


Feeling This

by cunttwatula (mindlessadri)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Present Tense, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 67,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindlessadri/pseuds/cunttwatula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleepless nights and city lights bring together two broken boys in a suburban park.<br/>It's only when they're together that they realize how desperately they've needed one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fate Fell Short

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome!
> 
> My name is Adrianna and I'm very excited to share this story with you. I've been working on it since January 1st, 2015. It's fiction but it's part confession.
> 
> Please note that this piece is marked explicit. There are elements to this story that are very adult and difficult to deal with. Please know your limitations as the reader and leave the story should anything make you uncomfortable. This is the only time this preface will appear in the story. 
> 
> A big thank you to Watergirl - I stopped working on this piece for about five months and it might never have gotten finished without her support and encouragement.
> 
> Without further to say please enjoy!

They don’t talk about it.

 

Jean is sipping coffee out on the deck. It’s no surprise he hasn’t slept. He has a wool blanket around his shoulders and it scratches at the skin of his neck. The winter’s spring has finally come. The trees are still as he looks thoughtfully over the pale green yard they spend so much money on during the summer to maintain. He’s going to have to mow the lawn, both front and back, by himself this year and in realizing this Jean is suddenly rueful of the wide expanse he use to revere as a child.

The sun is just coming up over the horizon and he hears the dog door swish as he takes another sip from his mug of coffee. He’s sitting on a lawn chair. It’s white wood with an extra low seat that people have a hard time getting out of. The dog, Rosencrantz, is a husky lab mix. His ears flop over but he has classic husky coloring with longer fur. The family calls him RC for short.

RC sets his head in Jean’s lap and Jean obliges by petting him. “I know, boy.”

RC only whines in response.

Jean hates dogs. No he doesn’t. He’s actually just allergic. RC isn’t his. He isn’t anybody’s anymore. It’s easier to say he hates them than admit he loves them and can’t have one.

“Fine.” Jean sighs when RC doesn’t stop whining.  He reaches out a hand and grabs a large rope toy from the deck. Shaking it in RC’s face he says, “One time.” He pulls his arm back and sends the toy flying over the deck and down to the lawn.

RC takes off in a rush down the stairs to Jean’s left. He can hear how there is open space beneath the wooden deck with how much force RC puts into his take off. Rosencrantz reappears on the lawn and makes a mad dash to the toy. He tears up the lawn a little as he does.

The house is atypical to most other houses, his parents are from the mideast and now, living in the desert, have spent a large sum of money on a custom house to reflect the architecture they enjoy. The side that faces the street makes it look like it’s a one story home with an attic. Built into the side of the slope of their lawn is the basement. The fact that one side of the basement was exposed made Jean consider it less a basement a more a second floor. Either way a person went they had to take stairs to get to the backyard.

Jean stands and dumps the last of his coffee over the railing before sneaking back in through the sliding glass door. The door lets him into the dining room. It has a square four person table covered with ads. Lately his mother won’t stop coupon clipping. To his right is the kitchen. It’s cramped and rectangular with yellow wall paper and purposely brown molding like the seventies. The appliances are rather modern though. Setting his glass in the sink he looks out the window facing the backyard. RC seems to know he’s not out there anymore and he’s chewing on the rope toy in the middle of the lawn.

The living room has dark green couches that recline and a coffee table with water marks from a lack of coasters. There are blankets and pillows on the long three seater and Jean peaks over the back of the couch to see his dad has fallen asleep there. It’s the third night this week. He must of missed him when he went outside around one that morning.

Thinking on it he realizes it’s the first night since he’s stopped sleeping that he actually left the house. Normally he just sits in his room playing the campaign or story mode on various video games or watching tv. But he’d felt restless and hot in room like he was suffocating. He’d sat outside for four hours watching what stars he could see, thinking about nothing. Literally nothingness. He wondered if it was the same as blackness or if nothingness was vast whiteness. He wondered if it was a place or a state of being.

Still not knowing the answer he goes down the hall. There were three doors. Two on the left and one on the right. The one on the right was the master bedroom. The first on the left was the bathroom and the second was his room. At the far end were the stairs to the attic and basement. He shakes his head when he sees that RC has dragged his bed into the stairwell. He grabs it and chucks it into the living room. No point in letting his mom be upset when she wakes up.

Jean opens the door to his room. It’s small. There is a full size bed pushed into the alcove with a cotton red comforter that has little fabric balls from use and four pillows. On the far side is his wooden desk filled with books and clutter. Behind the door is his entertainment center. It’s really all he needs and to his right is a small closet with clothes leaking out.

His bed groans under his weight and Jean deflates as he sighs into the mattress. He’d left his phone charging on his bed and he reaches out to see if he’s missed anything. His screen shows a missed call and then a text. Both are from Mikasa. _We need to talk._ It was sent just after five.

Quickly he taps out a reply. _I’m finally ready for bed can it wait until later?_

She must be running because she doesn’t respond until Jean is finally on the verge of sleep. _Yes. Let’s get coffee. I’m available all day._

Satisfied Jean closes his eyes and pretends not to hear RC whining as he scratches the door to the room in the attic.

* * *

 

_they’d known mikasa since childhood. she had always been fiercely protective of eren.  eren who was rambunctious and bull headed had probably need the protection. jean didn’t mind. him and eren had already established that jean would be the one to marry her. as they had gotten older however it became more obvious that the deal they had struck as children wouldn’t be kept._

_jean still thought mikasa was beautiful but eren had begun to look at her more seriously around seventh grade. at the time jean had been in eighth grade and begun to notice boys nearly as much as he noticed girls. it had been a confusing time. he didn’t tell anybody._

_it was no surprise when eren came into jean’s room on the last day of summer before jean went to high school and eren started eighth grade to announce he’d kissed mikke. that’s what they called her._

_jean had been happy for him. truly. the only sore point had been that over the summer he’d kissed a boy named marco and hadn’t been able to tell anyone. they’d done slightly more than kiss. they would go to marco’s grandmother’s house on thursday nights and make out in the guest bedroom marco was staying in. marco gave him his first experience with sex. he didn’t tell anybody._

_marco left at the end of the summer and gave jean his gamer tag. they gamed together sometimes and were friends but nothing had come of the summer fling. just pleasant memories._

_eren and mikasa started dating. it didn’t feel like anything had changed really. when they hung out it was the same as it had been since they were kids. once in high school though jean more or less let the love birds roost in peace more than not._

 

* * *

 

Jean blinks himself awake and turns to look at the clock on the window sill. It’s nearly four in the afternoon. His mom will be home from work soon and then she’ll make dinner and it’ll be ready by the time his dad gets home. A perfect home with no problems.

Dragging himself from his bed he grabs a towel and goes to the bathroom. Rosencrantz is sitting at the bottom of the attic stairs looking up. Jean feels bad for the ownerless dog and grabs him a treat off the table in the hall and tosses it towards him before closing the bathroom door behind himself.

The shower water is near searing hot but Jean doesn’t wash himself until the water shows signs of turning cold. The mirror is still steamed over when he steps out. He wraps the towel around his waist and wipes away the steam. Water runs from his flattened hair down his face, over his chest, and further to the coarse hair that peeks over the edge of the towel. Jean wipes away the water on his face and stands straight.

He swallows then speaks slow and clear. “It’s not my fault.” It sounds and tastes as numb as he feels most of the time.

Going back to his room he drops his towel and doesn’t even care if the perv woman next door sees. She’s in her eighties. He figures he’s probably doing her some sort of favor. He finds his pile of clean clothes and tugs on a pair of underwear. The nice kind with the soft fabric that the guys in gay porn wear. Then he puts on denim jeans and a crimson zip-up.

When he emerges to the living room he finds his mom is half way through with dinner.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hijo,” she acknowledges him.

He leans on the counter. “Smells good.”

A smile pulls itself across her face slow and unsure. “Should. It’s _chille rellenos_. Your _herman_ -” she stops and Jean frowns. They never talk about it. “Your favorite, baby.”

Without thinking he speaks, “My favorite is steak with holandaise sauce.”

Something changes on her face. It’s suddenly pleading and hurt. The deep brown of her eyes darken with tears. His mother turns to him. “I could have sworn it was your favorite.” Her accent is thick in her words.

He doesn’t have the heart to say it. _you know whose favorite it is._ “Yeah. You’re right. I was just teasing, mama.”

Her smile is now relieved and she puts a hand to her chest. “Oh Jean! You had me thinking I was _loca_. Like I don’t know my children’s favorites.”

She doesn’t notice what she said. Jean will take it as a win. “How soon?”

“Soon.” She touches his nose. “Just go work on those college apps. Just because you got your GED doesn’t mean you can slack your senior year.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Jean goes to his room and turns on his game system. He gets a party invite from robodt_schmobodt. He accepts.

“Hey.”

“Hey man. Sorry I had to leave you last night.”

Jean shrugs even though Marco can’t see him. “No biggie. Can’t help that you have school. Can’t help that I can’t sleep.”

“Still?”

“Still.”

There’s a lull. “What are you wearing?” Jean teases him. Innocent and friendly.

Marco laughs. “My boyfriends t-shirt.”

“Gay.”

“That’s the point.”

They both laugh this time. “Things seem serious between you guys.”

“Kind of.” Marco pauses. “We’re sleeping together.”

“No shit. Like actual sleeping together or handjobs in the bedroom sleeping together.”

“Anal,” Marco deadpans.

Jean smirks. “How’s that?”

“Awesome.”

“Did it hurt?”

Marco sounds cheeky, “If you think having your dick crushed in tight soft goodness hurts.”

“Dude,” Jean gives respect. “I just though with how gigantic he is you’d be on the receiving end. Ya know?”

“So did I. We’ve only done it a few times. I’ll bottom sooner or later. Just not during season. I don’t need to be sore and he’s already done it so he not worried about that because he knows his limits.”

“I see. Isn’t your season almost over?”

“Thank god.”

“Anxious?”

“Excited.”

“Good for you man. So what’s up with the t-shirt?”

“Wrestling team made state. He’s in Albany for the next week.”

“The shirt his home jersey?”

“Yep.”

“Cute," Jean says in a falsetto voice.

“Don’t be patronizing.” It sounds harsh but Jean knows Marco’s just giving him a hard time. “How are things on your end?”

“The same pile of shit covered in glitter.”

“Please don’t hold back,” Marco chuckles. “Think it’s going to change?”

“Nope. All the pictures are gone. Been that way since it happened. Until they’re back we’re just the same sad pathetic family.” Marco doesn’t say anything. “Enough small talk. Let’s game.”

Marco's quiet for another second. “You know we can talk about it.”

“Put up or shut up Marco.”

“Fine.”

 

* * *

 

_jean was getting ready to power down his computer and go to bed when he heard his mom scream like an actress from one of her daytime dramas. she sounded scared. he didn’t even tell his party he was leaving just got up and went to the front door. the hall light casted a strange shadow into the living room and the bright lights from the police cruiser tinted everything red and blue._

_“mom.”_

_his mother was collapsed on the floor in front of the door. her curly brown hair hid her face but from the way her body heaved he could tell she was sobbing._

_his father was frozen looking at the eleven o’clock news. on the tv was chopper; footage of a car that had flipped off the sharp turn of the airport connector overpass. “both passengers were dead on impact,” the tv announced._

_something wasn’t right._

_“dad.”_

_his mother screamed and he went to her. she was holding a plastic evidence bag with a high school id card inside. the inside of the bag was smeared red just a little bit. the wind kicked up and blew the fresh falling leaves into the entrance way._

_“we’re going to need for one of you to come down to the hospital make the official identification.”_

_jean looked to the officer whose head was bowed and hat in his hands._

_jean swallowed hard. “mom. where’s eren?”_

_she just sobbed._

_he wished he hadn’t come to understand the situation. he wished he’d never come out of his room. he wished he could ignore it and disappear. “where’s my brother?” jean looked to the officer with wide and pleading eyes._

_his face was grave and tinged with an inflection that made it seem like he understood the inadequacy of his words. “i’m so sorry.”_

* * *

 

Jeans definition of soon and his mother’s are two opposing definitions. Dinner is ready at eight-thirty. He hadn’t known his father was working late and it’s done just in time for him to stroll in.

Terry is tall and broad with strong shoulders and a strong jaw. He keeps his wavy, dirty blond hair just long enough to slick back and facial hair in a neat Van Dyke cut. Compared to Jean’s mother, Lira, he towers. That isn’t to say Lira is short. She herself is a five foot seven inch hispanic woman with a wiry frame, long thin face, warm eyes, and curly dark brown hair cut right to her chin in a straight line. She’s an English professor and Jean’s heard every racist joke in the book about it.

Jean clears the coupons on the table and puts them in the extra chair so his mother can set down their plates. They each sit on one side of the table and nobody looks up from their plate to the empty chair where Jean put the coupons.

The atmosphere is tense like any second something it going to give. Regardless Jean savors the meal because it’s probably the last time his mom will make it considering the exchange earlier in the day. It’s good even if it’s not his favorite.

He’s pushing around the last of his food when his dad finally speaks. “Why didn’t you take the coupons to the coffee table?”

Jean looks up. He doesn’t think him and his dad talked yesterday so this would make it the first time in nearly forty-eight hours. “I didn’t think to.” His words are slow and calculated because the only reason his father talks to him now is for the sake of argument.

“Well you should have. Mister GED. Mister no senior year for me.”

“Terry,” his mother tries to calm the building situation.

Terry swallows his food. “What? I’m just saying it makes more sense to put them on the coffee table.”

Jean doesn’t say anything just pushes the last of his food from corner to corner of his plate. He’s upset. It’s just a stupid empty chair and it’s so taboo.

“Don’t play with your food.”

Jean drops his fork on his plate and crosses his arms. He sinks into his chair and waits for dinner to end. His mother looks like she’s nearly reached her breaking point. Well, so has Jean. “Jean, take Rosencrantz on a walk.”

“‘S not my dog.”

Lira looks up from beneath her hands. Her eyes are sad and pleading. He hates it. Jean pushes back from the table and grabs the leash off the counter. RC sees and trots over, his tail wagging. He’s about to leave out the front when he turns to look over his shoulder.  “Once again - fantastic dinner that should have stayed silent.”

The door slams behind him. RC looks at him doubtfully. “Shut up,” Jean rolls his eyes and they take off down the street to the bottom of the hill. At the bottom there are black paths that people in the neighborhood use for running. These particular ones cut between houses on either side of the street and are landscaped with lush foliage are red volcanic looking rocks.

It crosses his mind to continue down the street to Mikasa’s but he doesn’t. He’s a little angry and it’s kind of late. He never texted her back. He goes down the left part of the path and RC starts tugging at his leash.

“What the hell RC?” Jean grips the leash harder and wraps it around his hand. He regrets doing that when Rosencrantz uses some unknown strength and causes Jean to stagger and loosen his grip thereby letting the nylon slide hot over his hand. “Fuck.” Jean clutches his palm. “Stupid idiot dog. Just like -” Jean stops and curses again.

He comes to his senses and realizes RC just ran away from him and he shakes his hand out. Jean takes off in the direction he went. “Rosencrantz!” He runs until he comes to a little side path that leads to the neighborhood park. It’s a fork. RC could have continued or gone to the right. Taking a chance he goes to the park. RC knows the park. His owner use to take him there.

The path is dirt and lined with wooden pegs connected by rope. On the right there are the back fences of some houses and the left there is a ten foot wall made of river stones. The dirt path takes you up a gentle incline. When Jean reaches the top he’s in the middle of the park. To the right is an expansive field of grass. Directly in front of him it a huge pit of sand with colorful cement circle for kids to climb on and into. To the very most left is the actual play ground. The dirt path traces the perimeter of the park and cuts between the various sections. It’s spotted with water stations and benches. If a person didn’t know where to look they would never find Laurent Park.

Jean sighs with relief when he sees Rosencrantz on the path between the playground and cement circles. He’s sniffing the person sitting on the bench inspecting his collar. He jogs over. “Hey,” he raises a hand in greeting. “That’s my dog.”

The person looks over their shoulder slow and graceful. He has full cheeks and a small pink mouth. His hair is swept up in a lazy bun, the kind where the hair isn’t pulled all the way through the hair tie on the last turn and pieces fall out around his face making him look like he either hasn’t slept or he just woke up. The most notable thing though is the blueness of his eyes and the dark circles, like bruises, around them.

“What’s his name?”

Jean’s caught off guard. “What?”

The blond sighs. “I’m not just going to let you take the dog when I have the address on his tag. What if you’re a dog napper?”

Jean scratches the back of his head. “Do dog nappers actually exist? I thought that was just something Disney made up.”

He shrugs. “Who knows, but I’m not chancing it.”

“What if you’re the dog napper?”

The blond smiles slow and steady like he’s been challenged. “If I’m the dog napper why would I have sat waiting to see if somebody was coming to grab him?”

“Because you’re trying to catch dog nappers?”

“Because I’m trying to catch dog nappers,” he agrees.

Jean gives in. “His name is Rosencrantz. We call him RC.”

“Rosencrantz like in Hamlet,” the blond says to himself and leans back against the bench still holding RC’s leash. “And what do they call you?”

“Jean. What about yourself?”

“Armin.” Armin hands him the leash and pats Rosencrantz on the head.

“Armin,” Jean tries it in his mouth. “Do you, uh, do you live around here?”

Armin nods slow and chews on his lip. “Just moved here.”

“Oh. Are you in high school?”

“Kind of.”

“Me too.”

“Home schooled?” Armin asks.

“No. You?”

“Yeah.”

Jean’s at a loss for small talk. RC noses his thigh. “I guess you guys should be on your way, huh?” Armin asks looking at Rosencrantz.

RC jumps up and licks Armin’s face. Jean’s about to tug him away but Armin starts rubbing RC’s neck and smiles until the dog decides he’s done. “Sorry about that. But yeah, we should finish our walk. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Armin shrugs and picks up the book next to him _The Poisonwood Bible._ “Maybe.”

Rosencrantz behaves the rest of the walk and when they get home his parents are asleep. He checks the time and realizes he’s walked around the neighborhood for the last two hours. Rosencrantz goes straight for his water and Jean goes to his room.

He collapses on his bed and it squeaks. He finds his phone in his pocket and calls Mikke. It rings three times before she picks up.

“Later doesn’t mean eleven at night.” She sounds like Jean woke her up.

“Sorry. I’m an ass. I know.”

Mikasa sighs. “I have school in the morning.”

“Sorry.” Jean repeats. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“Not over the phone.”

“Tomorrow?”

She makes a negative sound. “I have a lacrosse meet upstate in Reno. I’ll be gone until thursday night. Friday?”

“Friday.”

“Good night.”

“More like midday.”

He can hear her smirk. “Midday.”

“Good night.”

 

* * *

 

_eren begged nearly a year for a dog. he found out the neighbors had gotten one for christmas and he’d decided he needed one as well. their parents had been skeptical. eren was only nine. jean was allergic. they’d have to install a doggie door._

_terry had been on his way home and stopped at the gas station. there was a girl and her mom outside with a box of puppies. when he went in he hadn’t taken much notice but when he came out the little girl was hunched over crying. going to his car he overheard the mom telling her daughter somebody would take him._

_something tugged in terry’s heart and he sighed as he tossed the milk into the passenger seat and closed the driver’s door. he walked up to them slightly awkward. “how many you got left?”_

_“one.” the little girl stood. “it’s a boy. he’s sad because everyone else is gone.”_

_terry crouched down. “well that just won’t do. why haven’t they taken him?”_

_her chubby face quivered. “because his eyes are different colors.” she wiped her eyes._

_terry reached inside the box and pulled out the little mutt who had a round pink belly, soft fur, one blue eye and one gold. he looked at it dubiously. he licked terry’s arm hair and bit playfully at the meat of his palm. “why kind of dog is he?”_

_“lab, husky mix. neighbor’s dog got off the leash one afternoon.”_

_“how much?”_

_“free if you have kids. twenty if you don’t.”_

_“i have two boys. one of them’s been asking for a while now.”_

_terry cradled the puppy against his chest and looked at the girl. “we’ll love him. is that okay with you?”_

_she nodded then threw her arms around terry’s neck. “thank you,” she whispered._

_terry got home and called lira outside to his truck. “i have papers on hamlet to grade terry.”_

_“babe. don’t be mad.”_

_“what did you do?”_

_terry opened the passenger door to reveal the sleeping puppy. “the little girl giving them away was crying.”_

_he could see the smile tugging at lira’s face even as she tried to frown. “you’re a weak man terry kirstein.” lira relented and smiled. “look at his belly.”_

_together they took the puppy inside and encouraged him to follow up the stairs to the attic. terry rounded the banister first to see eren playing war with his planes. he was making airplane noises. “tat tat tat tat tat. vrooooom! pffffshhh”_

_“eren.”_

_his son looked up. blue eyes like his. like the puppy._

_the puppy finally made his way to the top and tripped over his paws._

_eren’s jaw dropped and he scrambled over to the puppy. “are you serious?! is this real?!”_

_“it’s real.”_

_the puppy got excited and jumped at eren’s chest until they both fell over. eren laughed. the puppy barked, happy._

_“what are you going to name him?” lira asked not really expecting an answer._

_“rosacants.”_

_“what?”_

_“the name you keep shouting at the table, mom. the one none of your kids can spell.”_

_“you mean rosencrantz?”_

_eren laughed as rosencrantz licked his face as if to say this is my boy. “yep. rosencrantz.”_

_“why that name baby?”_

_eren shrugged. “i like the way it sounds like a battleship name.”_

_terry and lira looked at each other. “maybe rc for short?”_

 


	2. Bodyache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a break take me down, take me down there/ I wanna stare at the tears how they/ Watered your years
> 
> Jean realizes he's not the only broken soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> This chapter introduces a complex emotional plot for Jean. So not only will he be dealing with his brother's death but now he will be feeling the feels about this as well.
> 
> The biggest delay in posting this was that for DAYS Ao3 wouldn't let me format my text correctly. This fic is pretty reliant on text to differentiate flash backs and text messages. 
> 
> Without much more to say I lay my writing bare.

It’s one in the morning on Wednesday. Marco went offline an hour ago to skype with his boyfriend who’s still upstate but due back late Friday. Jean flicks the scroller on his mouse as he looks at yet another college. This one is in New York. That’s where Marco lives. Not that that’s the reason he’s looking at that college because Marco actually wants to come out west towards where Jean is currently. In some strange way he thinks a complete change of scenery is in order. He wants to leave it all behind. Pictures of the city show landscapes with large oak trees and soft grassy fields instead of rock. Then there are pictures of the sky at night. It’s so clear and undisturbed by city lights that it makes him feel like if he were to see it in person he’d take on a whole new perspective. Or so he thinks.

He doesn’t know if he wants to go to college. He use to know but lately everything feels like sludge and he can’t breathe. Thinking about his future makes him feel more anxious as he sits there all the thoughts of the boy who doesn’t live in the attic come back and he thinks about death and nothingness.

Jean throws on a gray zip-up with red pockets and lining then shoves his feet into a pair of sneakers. He almost grabs his running shoes, light, flexible, and made for speed but he can’t.

There’s a chill in the air as he closes the front door behind him and walks just out of the floodlight motion detector range. The place where they live is purposely residential. There’s a community center with a pool at the heart of the layout, about a half dozen parks, an elementary school, and various trails in the natural landscape but that’s it. Anything else, stores, gas stations, theaters, the residents had to leave the community. This is why Jean thinks it’s stupid that he’s out here. He knows the neighborhood blindfolded and drunk and he knows there’s nowhere to _be_. It’s probably okay because that’s all he wants is to go. The destination is so much less important than the act of going there.

He goes down the same path he took Rosencrantz the other day and slows his stride. The path seems warped in the post midnight, pre dawn shadows and Jean can’t help but feel apprehension build the farther he gets from the street. Some sense in him tells him to turn around but he doesn’t and won’t because that gut feeling of unease is something other than the sludge.

When he makes it to the park he takes a look around. It’s different from how it is in the decent hours. The memories of barbeques and water wars don’t plague him and he feels comfortable in the clean slate the night provides. He decides to walk the perimeter of the park for no reason other than he’s already there and if he’s snuck out of the house he might as well stay out. Jean smiles to himself. He’s never snuck out alone before. They would put the car in neutral and back it down the driveway so not to wake Terry and Lira. Jean had always figured if they went together they’d be in less trouble, not to mention he was the second favorite. Now he’s the only one. If he gets caught the blow back is all his. It’s kind of exhilarating.

Jean turns so he’s walking on the far side of the field and stops short. The blond guy is there reading. He glances around because it’s strange to encounter another person this late at a park that’s only technically open until ten. “Hi,” he tries and it falls flat between them. Jean steps closer, “Armin?” He hopes he has the right person. He waves his hand in front of Armin’s face and the blond jumps.

Armin tugs the earbuds out of his ears.

“Oh. Sorry,” Jean scratches his neck.

Armin thinks on Jean’s statement. “It’s okay. I should probably keep one out anyway. You know. In case of vandals.”

Jean raises an eyebrow. “We live in Henderson.”

“Which is a suburb to the one and only City of Sin.” Armin shrugs. “It’s just new that’s all.”

“Where are you from?”

“A little bit of everywhere.”

“What does that mean?”

“Father’s military. We move a lot. Well, _moved_ now. Him and my mom are overseas now. I didn’t want to go so here I am with my grandfather.” There’s a pause and Armin scoots over on the bench so his bookbag falls to the ground with a heavy thud and pats the space next to him. He reasons that Jean’s probably the type of boy who doesn’t know how good looking he is. He probably pretends he does but the confidence is only on the surface. Jean has naturally dark hair in his undercut and the longer hair is lightened by insane natural highlights that only come out when the hair has length. His face is arrogant but kind and Armin can see he chews on his bottom lip because it’s chapped and just slightly swollen. Jean finally sits and Armin crosses his leg, his boot weighs heavily on his suspended ankle. “Your small talk is boring.”

Jean frowns and Armin can feel himself smile because he wouldn’t have pegged Jean as a pouter. “Like you can do any better.”

Rising to the occasion Armin speaks. “What’s better: being remembered or being the person having to do the remembering?”

Jean feels his stomach drop hot and cold all at once. He bites his bottom lip and hopes whatever he’s feeling doesn’t show on his face. “I think it depends on the situation. If the person’s just gone, like in a different city, then either is fine. But if being gone is permanent then it’s probably better to be the person who is gone.”

Armin nods in agreement. “Now it’s your turn.”

“Are we really playing questions?”

“I thought we were making small talk.”

“Fine,” Jean rolls his head looking for inspiration and his eyes land on Armin’s bag. It’s a black jansport with a reinforced tan leather bottom with various pins and bleach stains. “What’s in the backpack?”

Armin looks off the side of the bench and hauls it up into his lap. He unzips it, “Are you sure you want to know?” He tries to give Jean the best crazed look he can.

“Um, sure?” Jean swallows and Armin pushes the bag into Jean’s lap. He looks down then back to Armin who nods encouragingly.

Jean sticks a hand in and immediately Armin lurches, “Boo!” Jean jumps then realizing he’s in no immediate danger he looks at Armin who is cackling.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.,” Armin says still laughing.

Jean’s face slowly breaks out into a smile and he lets out one of those airy half chuckles. “You got me.” He waits a moment and Armin calms down. In the bag his hand is met with multiple hard surfaces. He pulls out a few different books of various genre and length but he stops when he finds a book he recognizes. “Oh. This is what you were reading last time.” He turns the books over in his hands and notices the spine is cracked from use.

Armin peeks over to read the title. “Yeah I did read that earlier this week. You can borrow it.”

“I don’t read much.”

“What do you do?”

“Um,” Jean’s caught off guard. “I play video games. Sometimes I fill out college applications.” He forgoes the part where he hasn’t actually filled one out since summer. Armin doesn’t seem impressed so he continues. “I watch tv?”

“What do you watch?”

“Nothing in particular. Just whatever’s on.”

“Only one of those is a hobby then. Tv could have been a hobby but it doesn’t count if you aren’t watching whole seasons.”

“Sorry I’m so boring.”

“I don’t think you’re boring,” Armin deadpans. “But you’re like me aren’t you?”

Jean’s eyebrows scrunch together. Armin’s obvious, with his pitched voice and subtle androgyny, but Jean had never thought he was. “What do you mean?”

“A creature of the night. A soul in the void of sleeplessness. Some might call us insomniacs.”

Jean’s never put a word to why he doesn’t sleep. He just doesn’t sleep and he says as much. “I just don’t sleep well.”

Armin mulls this over with a slow nod of his head. “Well either way I suggest you find hobbies to fill your nights or else the boredom will turn to loneliness.”

“You think reading’s the answer?”

Armin shrugs and leans back against the bench. “There’s probably more than one.”

“Well, since you’re such an expert, what do you do?”

“Read. Write a little and not well. Video games. Drive. Explore.”

Jean snorts both as Armin’s seemingly rehearsed answer and the memory of his car, unused since fall and parked on the far side of his driveway. “What is there to explore in Las Vegas? Too young for The Strip.”

“It truly pains me that you think that. Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll take you with me next time.”

The offer is tempting but he doesn’t bite. “Let’s just worry about how I’m going to get this book back to you.”

“Are you actually going to read it?”

“You’re the one that said to get a hobby. Mine will be criticizing your taste in books.”

Armin feels his face slip into a sly smile. He can’t remember the last time he’s encountered somebody who challenged him quite like this. “And my new one will be proving you wrong.”

Out of nowhere Jean confesses. “I use to run. That was my hobby.”

Armin’s voice is patient. “What happened.”

“Me and my running partner aren’t exactly on good terms.” Jean shoves the book into the oversized pocket of his sweats. “Really though. How am I going to get it back to you?”

“How long do you think it will take you to read it?” Jean shrugs so Armin continues. “Do you have snapchat?”

“Isn’t texting easier?”

Armin shrugs. “I like snapchat.”

“I deleted the app but I mean I could redownload it.”

“You didn’t get into it?”

He thinks about lying and agreeing but goes with a half truth. “I use to use it a lot but it got boring after my friend stopped using it.”

Armin opens up his app. He has an iphone four with one of those metallic cases with built in battery charges. It’s a dark pink and scratched up like he probably drops it a lot and he has little charms hanging off the corner. It’s a little girly but it suits him, Jean think. Thinking on it Armin himself is rather androgynous and that suits him too. He’s wearing tight black pants and bulky combat boots with a faded green hoodie and a jean jacket over top. They aren’t close enough for Jean to inquire and he doesn’t want to pry.

“What’s your username?”

Armin’s question snaps him out of his stupor. He remembers being tackled and having his username made for him and being laughed at when he got upset over the irreversible identifier. “It’s ‘no’ underscore ‘air in’ underscore ‘here.’” He thinks about it: no_airin_here. He thinks about coffins and the user that use to have the name airin_here.

Armin takes a picture of Jean’s lap and the surrounding books and sends it. “There now you have mine and I have yours.”

Jean opens his phone and starts the downloading process. He notices it’s later than he thought it was. His dad will be up soon to get ready for work and he doesn’t want to talk to him unless he has to. “I should go. My dad’s going to be up soon.”

“Okay.” Armin readjusts himself so he’s more comfortable. Jean’s nice enough to put the books back before he stands. “Snap me while you’re reading?”

“Sure thing.” Jean turns to leave then looks over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

“Maybe.” Armin feels a smile tug at his lips. As he watches Jean leave he notes the sway of his hips and curve of his back. He lays across the bench which is still warm where Jean was sitting and looks up at the sky. In some cities he could see the stars and they seemed vast. Here there are none.

He plugs in his headphones and turns the volume up. He drums the beat of the songs out on his chest as the sky becomes less dark and the sun starts to bleed into it as if the lights are coming from the trees. Not really thinking anything of it he takes his phone out and snaps what he sees to Jean.

 

* * *

 

_armin was twelve when he first started staying up much later than he should have. for the first few months he’d just stay in bed and do nothing but try to fight his way to sleep through the fog of fear and guilt_

_around that time armin had also realized he’s gay._

_it didn’t take a doctorate for him to decide that realizing his sexual orientation was probably the trigger that kept him up._

_the gayness in itself didn’t bother him but it felt somehow wrong. somehow like he defaulted to it as a way to assure himself that what happened hadn’t been his fault. he would sometimes think about her when he couldn’t sleep and his stomach would twist until he felt sick._

_his gayness somehow felt fake so he couldn’t bring himself to embrace it. he didn’t want to feel like a liar in his own skin but he did._

_he got hobbies to push the memories away and he didn’t talk about it._

 

* * *

 

Jean started reading the book as soon as he got home. It’s nearly ten in the morning now and he’s a good chunk through it which he should be because he’s been reading nearly six hours. He sets it down off the side of his bed and turns over. He thinks he can probably sleep now if he really wants to. Before he tries he checks his phone. It’d died shortly after he got home and he’d had to wait for his dad to leave to go grab his charger.

He recognizes the snapchat ghost and slides it open. There’s two snaps from life_arlert. The first is of his lap and the books from earlier in the morning. The second is of the sky just as the sun starts to color it. Jean feels himself smirk and he picks the book back up to place it on his bed and then he snaps back a picture of how much he’s read versus how much he hasn’t read.

Burrowing under the covers he feels his phone vibrate and grabs it. It’s a snap of a pale orange wall with a text overlay _snap me when you finish._

Jean smiles and blames it on his lack of sleep. The sun is high in the sky and Jean is just going to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

_mikasa’s parents never noticed her and that’s how she liked it. they were both the scholarly types and she never doubted they loved her but they were always so consumed in their work that often they would forget that she was a child and treated her more like a mini-adult._

_she was a good kid by their standards and she worked hard to keep it that way. she stayed quiet during the day so her parents could work and found ways to entertain herself. the talks at the diner table were nice and they made sure to praise her for her athletic accolades that she started collecting at a very young age._

_she never wanted. not for food, shelter, entertainment, or even love. she had been content. then she’d met eren in first grade. he was three handfuls that she watched from her desk. they weren’t friends at first and that was fine. she was content after all._

_then the annual spring race rolled around. towards the end only her and eren stuck out. their chests were heaving from exertion and the closer they got the more serious he became. “i won’t let you win!” eren shouted at her._

_she didn’t let eren win either. after that eren stuck to her like glue. he always asked how she was and what she did over the weekend even though her answer every time was boring compared to his. his stories planted themselves in her chest and grew flowers there._

_she was only six when she realized eren made her actively happy and not passively content. mikasa held onto that until they kissed and she felt love boil in her blood._

_and she buried the flowers when he died._

 

* * *

 

Friday morning Jean finishes _The Poisonwood Bible_. Maybe it is because he’s delirious but he cries a little at the end.

Armin hasn’t snapped him since the wall and he hasn’t tried to snap Armin. He sets the book on his blankets upside down and  snaps it to Armin with no overlay. He’s confident the message will be received. It’s nearly noon and he thinks he’ll be able to sleep soon but he realizes he hasn’t eaten all day.

His mom put leftovers in the fridge for him and he heats them up. The best part of not going to school is not having to get dressed so he feels no shame walking to the kitchen in his underwear. RC comes in from outside just at Jean’s finishing his food. “What?” He asks mouth still full. “I’m an adult, technically, and I can walk around in my underwear if I want.”

RC tilts his head doubtfully then goes to sit at the bottom of the attic stairs.

Jean hears him scratching at the bottom step and doesn’t bother to wash his plate because he’s suddenly angry. Going to the bathroom he looks in the mirror. He’s starting to develop more pronounced dark circles around his eyes. Pulling at the skin around his eyes he sighs and leans over the sink with his hands braced on the counter. “It’s not my fault.” He repeats it until he’s not angry.

He goes back to his room and pins up the blanket he’s been using to cover his window. It makes the room just dark enough to be below the level of bothersome. It isn’t until he’s comfortable the Jean remembers his phone and reaches out to search for it. He finds that there’s an alert but it’s from Mikasa.

_Back home. Can you come by?_

Jean’s too close to sleep to reply and the phone falls from his hand.

 

* * *

 

_losing a loved one hurts. it’s fact. in this case the hurt drove them to irrational things. they were sitting upstairs from the wake on jean’s bed._

_mikke wore a black square cut dress with lace shoulders and lace half-sleeves. jean wore black dress pants and a black button-up with a gray necktie._

_jean cried into the crook of mikasa’s neck. he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how he was probably ruining her dress but couldn’t tear himself away from where he was sobbing. her hands were reassuring in his hair._

_he hadn’t seen her cry, though, he knew that she had because her nose had been red all day. he wondered if he should try and stay poised like her. “i’m sorry mikasa. he’s gone and it’s my fault. i took him from you. hate me. please,” jean begged of her._

_she pushed him away by the shoulders and looked at him firm as her lips quivered. “it’s not your fault.” mikasa leaned forward and gently covered his mouth. it was a gesture of physical comfort and when she pulled away jean saw clearly the tears she’d been holding back. “he’s gone, jean.”_

_she hiccuped a bit to hide her sobbing and jean comforted her the way she had him. they fell back into his mattress. mikasa’s dress bunched up around her thighs and jean’s belt came undone. maybe it was momentum but neither of them tried to stop it, too lost in their own guilt and hurt to try and think it through._

_her breath was hot in his ear and she never opened her eyes and when she came she cried out his brother’s name. she asked for space after and jean obliged by zipping himself up and closing the door behind him. he could hear her crying from the hall. she’d done so well that day. mikasa had taken all the condolences with poise as they’d walked around the wake. it was his turn to be strong for her. jean set his face and wiped his tears as he made his way downstairs._

 

* * *

 

Jean only sleeps a few hours and when he wakes up he has a response from Armin. His eyes shoot wide and he scrambles for a pencil. The response had been a picture of Armin’s hand with his phone number scribbled on his palm. He writes it directly on his wall as he has no time to find paper.

The second thing he does is text Mikasa.

_I’m up._

_Benny’s?_

_Sure. Give me a half hour._

His mom’s not home yet because she teaches adult spanish on Fridays and neither is his father. Locking the door behind himself he grabs a bike off the porch and pushes off towards town. The ride out of the community takes about ten minutes and the ride to the cafe takes another fifteen. Jean doesn’t bother to chain his bike when he pulls up outside Benny’s, a coffee spot popular among teenagers and young adults.

Mikasa is sitting at her regular booth in the corner and they lock eyes. Jean signals that he’s going to grab coffee and gets in line as she nods. His order is up in less than a minute and he takes his cup to the table. Mikasa has three different plates in front her suggesting she’s had three different pastries.

“How was the meet?”

Mikasa shrugs and sips her tea. “I didn’t get to play. I’ve been sick.”

“That sucks.”

She looks at him. Her face is serious and he knows to shut up so he does. “I think I’m pregnant.”

Jean chokes on his coffee. “What?” He manages as he tries to get the hot coffee out of his throat.

Mikasa presses on because she’s not the type to bullshit around. “I don’t know if it’s yours.”

He feels suddenly relieved then concerned. “Who’s would it be then?”

“Eren’s.”

Jean leans in close, heart thumping in his chest. “I thought you guys used protection.”

“We did but the condom broke the last time.”

Jean scrunches his face, “Well why didn’t you get the pill?”

“It was the night of the accident. I was sort of busy.”

Jean’s head hits the table and he groans. “Fucking fuck.”

Mikasa snorts. “Articulate as always.”

“What should we do?”

She puts her bag on the table and opens it. Jean sees five pregnancy tests. “I didn’t want to do it alone.”

Jean looks at her and realizes she’s scared. “Okay. Want to go to your house?”

Mikasa nods and they leave. Jean throws his bike into the back of her little pickup and gets in the passenger seat. They don’t speak on the way to her house. Jean recognizes the CD playing as the mix he helped Eren make for her in middle school.

Mikasa lives further back in the neighborhood than he does so the drive is long enough for him to stew. He can’t have a kid. He’s an emotional wreck. His family is a psychology student's wet dream. If the baby is his then the mother is his brother’s girlfriend and that’s all kinds of fucked up beyond the fucked up part when they had sex. But if the baby’s Eren’s then - then maybe it’s not so bad.

Jean looks at Mikke and wonders what she’s thinking. Her face is impassive and delicate as always but her eyes are swollen and red. He wonders if she’s stopped crying yet.

They pull into her driveway. “Where are your parents?”

“Benefit. They’ll be back tomorrow.” She let’s them in and Jean shuts the door behind them as she turns on the lights. If she has the baby it will be a summer child, he thinks as he follows her up to her room. Mikasa’s room has a connected bathroom. “Just wait on the bed.”

Jean sits where told and looks around. He hasn’t been in Mikasa’s room for a long time it seems. Her room is done in lilac and blue that makes it seem like it should be cold but it’s pleasantly warm. Her computer desk is organized and above it are pictures tacked up. Most of them are of Eren. Not even of her and Eren, just him, which is strange because she use to have pictures of the two of them everywhere.

He notices a corner peeking out from under her pillow and gently tugs it out. It’s a photo of her and Eren. They’re at the midnight premiere of some movie wrapped up in blankets as they wait in line. Eren is taking the picture, smiling with his arm around her shoulders. Mikasa herself has a soft smirk on her lips and her cheeks are pink from whatever Eren had probably said to her before hand.

The door to the bathroom clicks and he quickly pushes the photo under the pillow only to notice how it glides smoothly against others. Mikasa drops down next to him and puts her hands between her legs. She’s thinking hard, Jean can tell. “Are you sure?”

“About being pregnant?” Jean nods. “No, but I will be in seven minutes.”

“What makes you think you are?”

“Haven’t had my cycle in a few months. I thought it was grief.” She doesn’t sound like she has more to say on that.

“Like grief stopped it?”

“More like the stress from the grief.”

Jean bites his nails and the sound echos in the room. He wants to be supportive but really he’s just in shock and if he’s not in shock he’s scared shitless. “What are you going to do?”

Mikasa looks more annoyed than anything. “What?”

“I mean what are you going to do if it’s Eren’s?”

A few different things fall over her face. Relief. Hurt. Hope. All she says is, “I don’t know.”

Jean swallows. “And if it’s mine?”

There’s only upset on her face. He knows he’s not Eren but he wishes he could make her happy the way he had if only so that he didn’t have to see her in pain now. But the sorrow that fills her eyes is enough to reassure that Eren is best and he’s not even second. “I don’t know.”

Mikasa notes Jean’s eyes. They are sunken and have lost the color that was responsible for him being voted best eyes in his class since freshman year. The two of them don’t talk much anymore. Word around school is that Jean doesn’t talk to anyone and she’s worried about him. He just stopped going to school and then word got out that he’d dropped out and gotten his GED. He was going to be prom king and he was going to take the track team to state and he was going to win all the slots in the yearbook that everybody wanted. None of that would happen now and through it all Mikasa couldn’t understand why because Eren wouldn’t have wanted to see his brother how he was now.

Her phone buzzes signaling the tests are done and she goes to the counter where she’s left them. They are a row of little plus signs and Mikasa bites her lip to hold back her tears. She takes a breath to compose herself and steps back into her room. “I’ll tell my parents if you tell yours.”

Jean’s head drops to his hands and he lowers it between his legs. “Okay.”

They talk about the finer details.

Are you going to tell anyone?

_No._

How far along do you think you are?

_Three months._

The baby might be due in July?

_We’ll see._

When are you going to tell your parents?

_When they get back._

Do you want me to go to the doctors with you?

_Please._

When he leaves it’s nearly ten. His parents are probably home and getting ready for bed if not already asleep. They didn’t text him to see if he was okay and Jean just shrugs the irritation off like a jacket. He rides his bike home slow and lets the cool spring air fill his lungs. He’s not sure how to feel but he knows he doesn’t feel much of anything.

Jean drops his bike in the yard and shuts the door quietly behind him. RC pads into the room with his tail wagging. It stops when he sees Jean and the poor dog just collapses to the floor and whines. In a moment of weakness Jean kneels beside him. “I’m sorry buddy. I’m sorry I’m not him.”

He thinks that when he gets to his room he might cry but when he turns the light on the first thing he sees is Armin’s number written on his wall. It’s not that he wants to see Armin it’s that he wants a distraction and he’s probably the only one up this late. That’s not true but he doesn’t care.

He sends a text to Armin.

_want to hang out?_

It sounds a little forward but he’s willing to take the chance if it means leaving his life for a little bit. It dawns on him, as he grabs the book and makes his way to the living room in hopes Armin will give him the okay, that Armin doesn’t know. He never knew Eren and since he’s homeschooled he’s less likely to hear about the tragedy at all. It’s comforting.

His phone buzzes with a reply. It’s in snap form. It’s a picture of a cement blue wall with a text overlay _find me._

Jean smiles despite himself. Armin’s an idiot if he thinks Jean doesn’t know every nook and cranny of this neighborhood. He’s at the park in one of the cement pits. He slows his stride when it takes him less than a minute to get to the mouth to the path. The last thing he needs is to look too eager.

Armin’s easy to spot. He’s put a lantern on the rim of the circle he’s sitting in, probably for light. Jean snaps a picture of the lantern and a moment later he see’s Armin’s head peak over the ledge with a shy smile. He goes to the circle and looks over the ledge, “Found you.”

“It isn’t supposed to be hard.”

“Next time try to make it a challenge.” Armin’s hair is loose. It’s long in the back but frames his face in the front. Jean decides he like it, a lot.

“Then I will. Count on it.”

Jean hops into the circle and sits down opposite Armin so their legs are parallel and almost touching.

Armin folds the book he’s reading, _The Secret Life of Bees_ , and pulls his knees to his chest. “How’d you like the book?”

Jean shrugs. “It was alright.” Armin waits because there’s no way that’s how Jean feels after reading _The Poisonwood Bible._ “But I mean - it was kind of fucked up.”

“Which part?”

“All of it!” Jean’s hands fan out as if the gesture will reiterate his words. “I know it was good but I’m not good at symbolism and stuff like that so why don’t you tell me about it.”

“I mean all the girls obviously represent different qualities. Intelligence. Instinct and Acceptance. Ignorance. Innocence. I mean _innocence_ literally dies in the jungle, Jean. In the beginning the mom tells us that she leaves one of her daughters in the soil of Africa so the first time I read and the oldest daughter was introduced as snotty and materialistic I thought her ignorance would get her killed but it doesn’t. Instead ignorance just becomes more set in it’s ways in a sense. In the end she returns to civilization she’s always known and becomes solidified in the idea that she was always meant to be better than the people in the village.”

“Then why does innocence die?”

“Because innocence cannot exist in the the jungle. That was Kingsoliver’s entire assertion in killing her.”

Jean wants to beg the same question because Armin’s serious, cute, and seriously cute when he talks about books. “It wasn’t fair.

“No. Death hardly ever is.” Armin pauses. “What was your favorite part?”

Without hesitation. “When the ants ate the village.”

“Really?” Armin tilts his head. “Why’s that?”

“I just really relate to Adah. I guess.”

Armin’s eyes dart around trying to piece together what Jean means. “Underappreciated genius?”

Jean thinks about the scene. The mom sees Adah fall and continues to run from the sea of ants. She doesn’t go back because she has Ruth May and Adah, the only other child that is largely dependant on their mother, is second her sister. “Maybe a little.” He smirks and Armin accepts it.

“I thought you’d like Leah learning bow and arrow best and the hunt they let her go on. I like that part anyway because it’s when you know she’s finally free of her father’s way of thinking.”

“That just sounds like you were hoping I’d like that because you did.”

Armin smiles. “Maybe a little.”

“So, uh, you miss your parents?” Jean tries for the sake of conversation.

Armin shrugs, “Were weren’t that close the last couple years.”

“Why not?”

“Who knows? Teenage angst, maybe?” Armin watches Jean’s face for a reaction. Armin knows why and it has a lot to do with his first music teacher. “What about you? Do you get along with your parents?

“For the most part, yeah. They’ve been kind of stressed the last few months.”

“What are they like?”

“Mom’s an English professor and dad’s some bigwig at the power company. I’m not sure how big though to be honest.”

Armin sets his head on his knees. “You know you just told me what they do. You didn’t tell me what they’re like.”

Jean sighs as he tries to think of how to describe his parent’s as people and not parents. “Well, my mom, her grandparents immigrated from Puerto Rico to Chicago. She grew up there. She’s the oldest of eight so I guess she’s always taken care of people. That’s what she likes to do. That and teach, I guess. I don’t think teaching is everything she’d hoped it’d be, though. My dad met my mom in a bar in Chicago. That’s the story anyway. They hit it off but he lived here with his girlfriend. At first they were friends and then when they realized it was more than that he broke up with her and my mom came out here. My dad - he cares a lot but sometimes the way he goes about it is wrong. I’m sure I just made them sound terrible.”

“They sound human,” Armin assures him. “It’s your turn.”

Jean adjusts his position. “We’re still playing?”

Armin’s smile is warm and flirty. It makes Jean’s chest light. “How else are we going to get to know each other?”

Amused Jean sinks farther into the sand. “So, um, what was your favorite place to live?”

“Probably Louisiana. We lived in New Orleans. The culture there is, well, it’s something else. And the food!” Armin throws his head back. “It’s absolutely delicious. Have you ever had _real_ gumbo? The kind that’s made on the streets for an entire cul-de-sac with home butchered meat and house made spices?”

Jean shakes his head. He can feel himself smiling at the way Armin lights up.

“One day you’ll have to go.” Armin takes a calming breath. “We weren’t there long. only five months. So it never felt like home and there were so many things to learn about the culture there.” He rolls his head to look at Jean. “There was always something to do when I couldn’t sleep.”

“Like what?”

Armin shrugs. “One night I was walking around. That’s what I did before I had a car. I’d put in my headphones and just walk until I didn’t want to anymore. One night I stumbled into a park. There was a group of kids having a bonfire. I kind of just stood on the edge but then they noticed me and, let me tell you, southern hospitality is unbeatable. They offered me food. I ate the best dry ribs I’ve ever had. So I asked about them and they introduced me to this kid, Oliver, who was older but not by much. His family made this dry rub and sold it in their butcher shop.” Armin licks his lips like he can taste them. What he remembers most about that night in how the firelight made Oliver’s deep brown skin glow like smoldering embers. They’d snuck off after a few hours of talking and made out under the trees. Oliver’s hair had been thick and curly in his fingers. He’d spent a good deal of his remaining time in New Orleans with him after that. “He told me all about how his ancestors had been slaves and how the rub had been passed down from generation to generation.”

“So New Orleans was your favorite place to live?”

“It’s not that simple. I just enjoyed New Orleans. After you’ve been so many places you realize that you can live anywhere. Most places are the same. You have to work to find something worthwhile about them.“

Jean lets that sit between them a moment. He appreciates what Armin says because it makes him think that maybe where he is isn’t a lost cause but rather, maybe, he needs something new. The thought it fleeting. “Your turn.”

“What’s your favorite psychology theory?”

Jean pushes his eyebrows together. “What the hell Armin?”

“For example I really like the nature versus nurture arguments. I mean it’s terrible what they did to the baby monkeys but it’s fascinating how reliant mammals are on social connection.”

Jean laughs. “I didn’t take psych.” He pauses. “But I guess it’s interesting that humans are less likely to help when there are more people around. That’s one right?”

Armin nods slowly. “Yep. Bystander effect. But why that?”

“I don’t know. It’s just,” Jean lets out a breath. “It’s weird to me that people don’t care enough to get personally involved. They resign themselves to thinking that the issue is resolved and feel good about it. But they don’t know. They don’t care enough to know what’s actually happening around them.”

Armin’s thoughtful for a moment. “I think that’s how life is though. We all want connection but how many people do we really offer to cross the line for?”

“I guess not many.” Jean leans his head back and looks at the sky. He has the fleeting thought that it’s a little ridiculous to think the souls of the dead look down from the clouds. There are no clouds and so where - Jean takes a breath to steady himself. “Did you have other plans tonight besides sitting the in park?”

“Is that your question?”

“Guess so.”

“I never make plans. I just do things for the most part. For a few reasons. I never know when I’m going to be up or sleeping and if I manage to sleep I’m not going to give that up. Also because I don’t _want_ to be this way. I just am. It kind of feels like if I make plans too often that I’m resigning myself to being like this.”

“Maybe that’s why I didn’t start going out until recently,” Jean offers. “I didn’t want to admit that not sleeping was a _thing_ now. I mean, if I’m at home then I can at least pretend I’m trying to sleep.”

Armin nods. “I know the feeling.” He pauses. “What about you? Did you have plans other than sitting in a park with me?”

Jean laughs. It’s a little bitter but not much. “No.” He tilts his head back to look at the sky. “I don’t really have a lot of friends.”

“Me either,” Armin sighs. “I have one. Oliver.”

“The guy from New Orleans?”

Armin nods.

“Marco.”Jean looks back to Armin who has settled his cheek on his knees. “He’s probably my only real friend. He lives out east though.”

Armin doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t buy that Jean has no friends. Based on the little he knows about Jean it doesn’t really seem plausible. He’s handsome, funny, athletic - everything that people are drawn to, knowingly or not.

Jean holds his breath. Armin’s eyes pin his body still. Almost like the prey that knows it’s been caught. He lied, and Armin knows it. There’s no way he doesn’t. All that’s left is for Jean to see if he’s going to call him out on it.

“Must be lonely,” Armin says pushing his hair behind his ear.

Jean let’s out a small sigh of relief. The line has been drawn. He knows because in that moment he realizes him and Armin are the same. Past the insomnia. Past the loneliness. They both have secrets to keep and those secrets are officially safe in this darkness.

 

* * *

 

_lira found out she was first pregnant six months after she had moved to be with terry. she’d been at work in the faculty bathroom. all week she had been there. one of the custodians had noticed. she was about lira’s age and also spanish speaking. myra. they talked often. though being shunned by the vastly white staff had a way of throwing feathers together._

_she stumbled out of the bathroom gasping because the taste of vomit made it hard to breathe. myra happened to be cleaning the faculty lounge._

_< <oh my god. lira.>> myra lamented as she helped lira into a chair. <<every morning. have you - >>_

_lira looked up knowing what myra was about to suggest. <<no. i can’t be. not this soon.>> lira swallowed. <<we just started living together. i’m still trying to get myself established here so they’ll let me teach both second language english and an english class. terry,>> lira swallowed. <<we haven’t talked about children.>>_

_myra stood from where she was crouched at lira’s knees and went to her cart. she fished around in her purse and pulled out a box. <<me and julio are trying.>> she shoved the box into lira’s hands._

_lira looked at her. she laughed without humor as she turned the pregnancy test over in her hands. <<is it bad to say i’m scared?>>_

_< <no. if you said you weren’t i wouldn’t believe you.>>_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take naming my chapters pretty seriously, but I'm also kind of boring and uncreative at times so I draw on songs and lyrics, kind of like how I did for the title of this fic and last chapter's title as well. That being said [Bodyache](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LbqcXnTt-7o) is a song by Purity Ring whom I recently saw in LA. 10/10 recommend. I imagine Mikasa would relate very well to it. At times applying the lyrics to her feelings, other times relating them to things she wishes she could say to Eren, and then things she might want to say to Jean. It's multifaceted.
> 
> I was afraid that having Mikasa and Jean find comfort with each other in the way they did would come off as forced and tacky for the sake of plot. But I think it really adds some depth to Jean's character and later to the family dynamics that are a'happenin.
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback as the story progresses and becomes more and more - well, dramatic!
> 
> If you need something to soothe that Jearmin craving I know you have you are always welcome to my [other works.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mindlessadri/works)
> 
> See you soon!!


	3. Alone Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where you're going, / But do you got room for one more troubled soul / I don't know where I'm going, / But I don't think I'm coming home / And I said, I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead / This is the road to ruin and we're starting at the end
> 
> It's just a crush. It's all going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a belated Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you all! I was just thinkin yesterday that in [What Grows In Winter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mindlessadri/works) there is a Christmas scene and a New Years scene; so if you've come hoping for a little adorable present exchange you have been misled. 
> 
> So, without the need for further banter - enjoy!

Jean wakes up at eleven at night. He’d fallen asleep after another tense dinner with his parents. Five hours isn’t enough sleep for the type of rest his body needs but he’s suddenly restless. Instinct tells him to check his phone. He has three alerts. The first is a missed call from Connie. The second is a text from Mikasa. The third is a snap.

Sighing, Jean rolls over, in the process he throws _The Secret Life of Bees_ off his bed, and dials his voicemail.

Connie’s voice is just as he remembers. “Hey Jean! It’s me Connie. I guess you probably know that. Caller ID and all.” He laughs. “Um, listen we’re driving out to the dunes this weekend. My, Sash, couple of the other guys from track. We’d really like it if you came.” Connie pauses. “I’d really like it if you came.” A second pause. “Fuck man. I’m worried about you. I miss you. You’re my best fucking friend and -” Jean hears Myra yelling at Connie in the background to come eat. “Look I have to go. Call me back. Please. Bye.”

Jean looks at his phone as the automated voice gives him options. He listens to the voicemail again before deleting it. He checks his text message next.

_have you told your parents?_

He groans and pulls the blanket over his head. What exactly is he supposed to tell them? He thinks it would break his mom.

_there hasn’t been a good time. i’ll tell them soon._

Jean says it to himself he will but he knows he won’t. Not soon anyway. He pictures himself holding a baby that looks like Eren with those same blue eyes and cheeky smile. It hurts. His chest feels tight and heavy like somebody just dropped lead into it. Another image comes to mind. He’s still holding a baby but this time it’s his. He imagines stroking the baby’s soft skin and whispering to it that they are the best, they are not a disappointment, they are not a second choice. It calms him.

He opens his phone again and goes to snapchat. It’s a picture of the sun setting over the Hoover Dam. The light just catches the water and illuminates the red-brown landscape. Armin sent it just after he’d fallen asleep.

He tugs the blanket off his head and pulls the sheet back from his window to take a picture of the dark neighborhood. He puts a text overlay on it. _THE SUN IS GONE!!!!_ He sends it and wonders if Armin is still awake. Putting the phone on his chest he sighs.

Moments pass and his phone rings. Jean half expects it to be Connie. It’s not and his eyebrow quirks up as he answers. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Armin’s voice is soft like spun sugar. “What are you doing?”

Jean sits up and rubs the back of his neck. He suddenly feels self conscious despite the fact he’s alone in his room. “Uh, nothing. Just got up.”

He hears Armin adjust himself on the other side. “Did you finish the book?”

Jean looks at the ground and picks it up, “Almost. I have about seventy-five pages left.”

“Good enough. Let me know when you’re done. How long did you sleep?”

“Uh, five hours give or take.”

“Tell me about it. In William Golding detail.”

Jean swallows. He can hear the smile in Armin’s voice and something about it is coy. “I, uh, I got in my bed. It’s full sized. It was warm from the sun. The sheets were,” he looks at his worn, cotton sheets and grimaces. “The sheets were silky against my skin. I put my head under my pillow -”

“You sleep with your head under your pillow? What are you? An ostrich?”

Jean smiles, “Hey, you’re the one that asked.”

“Okay, okay. Go on.”

“Oh, um, I put my head under my pillow and pulled the blanket completely over me and bam I was asleep.”

Armin takes a moment, “What did you dream about?”

Jean thinks back. He does dream but in a way that makes it seem like he hasn’t. He dreams of nothing. The endless white room or the continuous black void. Nothing. “I didn’t dream.” Jean licks his lips, “What are you doing?”

“Reading.”

“What?”

“Sylvia Plath.” Jean doesn’t say anything and Armin continues. “Want me to read you some?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll read you my favorite part.” Jean hears Armin flip through the book and clear his throat, “ _I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle up and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet_.”

Jean doesn’t know what to say. The moment seems strangely intimate and yet he felt empty. His mouth was dry. “More.”

“What?” Armin laughs.

“Keep,” he pauses briefly. “Keep reading to me.”

Armin didn’t speak for what felt like a long time. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Armin’s voice continues with the same softness. Jean could feel Armin’s voice in his neck, working it’s way down his arms, all the way to his toes. It was minute tingles that put his senses to high but made his body soft.

Armin had been reading the better part of an hour when he stopped. “Let me grab some water.” Jean heard the phone hit the bed and he waited.

 

* * *

 

_terry stared at his wife across the table. “baby, what’s wrong?”_

_he’d made lasagna and poured them both wine. “i can’t drink this.”_

_he snorted. “c’ mon. my taste in wine isn’t that bad.”_

_“no, i mean,” suddenly her face turned sour and she pushed her chair back with such force it clattered to the ground. terry followed after her to the bathroom. it took him a moment to realize she was vomiting but when he did he stepped forward and pulled her long hair back from her face._

_she stopped but stayed put. “maybe my taste is that bad.” terry saw her crack a smile. “you okay?”_

_“no. i’m pregnant.” she spit into the bowl and turned to face terry. her brows were set and her face blank like she wasn’t sure what would happen._

_in his chest terry’s heart thumped against his rib cage. he sat back on his heels as the weight of it settled on him. “we’re having a baby?”_

_lira’s face cracked and she started crying. “i don’t know. are we?”_

_terry put his hands on her cheeks and kissed her firmly. “yes.” he kissed her forehead. “yes. you stupid hormonal pregnant lady.”_

_lira laughed._

_“oh my god. i’m going to be a dad.”_

_lira laughed again._

 

* * *

 

Armin pads down the carpeted hallway to the kitchen. He passes the study where his grandfather has fallen asleep and closes the door slowly before tiptoeing the rest of the way. Grandpa has a tendency to fall asleep anywhere but his bed.

Grabbing his cup from the sink he fills it with water. He stands over the sink and drains his cup in three large gulps. A weight comes over him. Armin knows it as the ‘never-more-than-friends’ weight. It’s not something that the world imposes upon him, he holds no fallacy, it is, instead, a rule he imposes on himself. He only feels it when his heart is engorged with want and interest.

Armin looks at himself in the window over the sink and tightens his grip on the edge of the counter. Black, inky hands with long, slender fingers creep across his skin. His skin feels cold and he blinks them away, but he can still see where he’s stained. Running his hands over his face he sighs and looks at the clock on the microwave. Oliver is supposed to get back from his family reunion around one then Armin is supposed to go over his english paper with him via skype.

He makes his way back to his bedroom and picks up the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jean’s voice comes through smoky and warm. “Are you going to read to me some more?”

Armin would almost swear Jean’s voice is flirtatious. “No. I can’t”

Armin listens to silence for a moment then Jean laughs. “What, got a date?”

He knows it’s a joke but some part of him pushes it because maybe Jean _is_ flirting. “Yeah.”

The silence is longer this time. “Oh. I didn’t know you were seeing anybody.”

Armin can’t help how he giggles at Jean’s unsure voice. “I’m not. It’s a study date. I’m going over a paper for a friend.”

“But still no reading?”

“We are very close to the end. I think it’s online. Plus you have to finish _The Secret Life of Bees_.”

Jean laughs a little. “I will, I will. I don’t know if _The Bell Jar_ will have the same finesse as when you read it, though”

“It won’t,” Armin assures.

There’s a comfortable pause as Armin gets off his bed and goes to his desk to start up his desktop. “I’ll finish both of them.”

“I’m sure you will.” Armin looks at his screen and sees he already has a skype request. “I’m going to go. Good morning Jean.” He accepts the request.

“Good morning, Armin.”

He’s looking at his phone and biting his lip when he hears Oliver’s voice. “Good phone call?”

Armin shrugs and turns to face the screen. Oliver is collapsed on his desk. His hair is longer from the last time they skyped and he shakes the pieces that have fallen in his face away to reveal a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. “Not as good as your face.” Armin avoids the question.

Oliver’s face twists into amusement and he sits up. He’s not wearing a shirt and his bronze skin glows, slightly blue, in the light of his computer. Freckles of varying size and shape dust his collarbones and upper chest. “Don’t tease.” Oliver stretches his arms above his head then relaxes with a large sigh. “You look beautiful as always.”

Armin rolls his eyes. “I look half dead.”

“Are you sleeping?”

He nods. “Yep. The insomnia just up and disappeared.”

Oliver breathes out through his nose. “I was just asking.”

“I know.” Armin looks at the phone in his lap. He shouldn’t have given Jean his number. “Let’s start -”

“You’re really not going to tell me who you were talking to?”

Armin levels his gaze at his screen. “Just this guy I met.”

“Ah.”

Armin watches Oliver’s face fall a fraction of a centimeter. “Oliver, you’re the one that wants us to be friends.”

Oliver nods. “I know and I mean it. It’s okay, I’m the one that asked. Either way, I’m glad you’re making friends.”

The problem is _not_ that he has no feelings for Oliver it’s that he _does_ have feelings for him. Or he did, anyway. He thinks about everything he knows about Oliver. He knows how friendly he is, how straightforward, how forgiving, how patient, how kind and giving and caring. But, he knows these things and that’s why he can’t be with Oliver. Armin already hates himself for allowing Oliver to love him.

Armin smiles solemnly. “Let’s go over your paper so you can get to bed.”

They stay up another hour as Armin suggests changes that Oliver inevitably makes. Once they say good night Armin goes back to lay on his bed. He scrunches the blanket up in a makeshift body pillow and pulls it close. As he watches the sky change from black, to dark blue, to orange he sighs to fill the empty cavern in his chest. His eyelids feel heavy.

A weight settles over his body. He feels it in his legs first; it’s as if they aren’t entirely his. A finger glides gently up his calf and he feels his stomach twist. The feeling creeps over his hips and up his torso. Hands glide against his ribs and he wants to tell them to stop but he can’t and he doesn’t know why. His arms and neck feel heavy and then the feeling is on his face in his lungs and he can’t breathe! - she won’t let him breath! - he has to breathe!

Armin wakes himself up with a jolt. He nearly falls off the bed, he’s so startled. He’s gasping for air as he throws his gaze across the room. There’s nobody there with him and he takes a large gulp of air to steady his breathing. He glances at the clock and realizes he’s slept nearly three hours. He decides that three hours is probably as good as it’s going to get and pulls himself out of bed to another day.

 

* * *

 

_“richard?” claudia came around the corner of their new house. they’d been at this base five days but they were still unpacking. if she could just have a solid day to herself she could get it done. living on base was a full time job; it meant potlucks and carpools and rotating babysitters._

_richard looked up from where he’d sat in a lazyboy to remove his boots. “hey, babe.” he spread his arms wide and claudia went without hesitation._

_she sat in his lap and rubbed her nose against his twice before kissing him. “welcome home. i missed you.” she ran her fingers over the freshly shaved bristles of blond hair._

_he stared at her thoughtfully. “you have something to talk about.”_

_claudia feigned innocence. “what makes to think that?”_

_“well,” richard began, “it’s your face. you’d think that after fourteen years of marriage i would pick up on it’s subtleties.”_

_she reclined against him. “it’s armin.” richard didn’t say anything but she could feel his eye roll._

_“already?”_

_“it’s not his fault, you know.”_

_richard groaned. “i’m not saying it is claudia but what i am saying is that this is the fifth school it’s happened at. we’ve been all over this country in the last few years and the only common denominator with each incident is armin.”_

_claudia swallowed. “you remember the runts, rich?”_

_“you mean from the litters my family bred?”_

_“yeah. you use to invite me over when the puppies started getting cute. every once in awhile you’d show me a runt. they’d be small and fragile and their chests were always beating much faster than the others. sometimes they’d be fine and other times they had to fight for every inch. that’s armin, rich. there’s just something about him that makes it harder for him.” they were silent a moment. “you know, most military kids grow up knowing how to adapt quickly to new environments. not ours. don’t know why but he didn’t get that and that’s not his fault. but these kids - these kids, richard, they know. they can spot the odd man out.”_

_richard ran his fingers through her long, mouse brown hair. “you’ve been thinking about this a lot. i’m guessing you have a suggestion.”_

_sitting up, claudia looked richard right in the eyes. “this whole time our advice to him has been to try to fit in but what if we change that. i’m not saying that we buy him a red nose but what if we give him something he can make an identity for himself with. he can take it with him everywhere we go.”_

_richard blinked. “you’re thinking music lessons aren’t you?” claudia nodded and richard sighed. “you really think this will help?”_

_“it can’t hurt to try.”_

 

* * *

 

Armin is good about filling his time. He reads, he writes, he goes to restaurants that have no business being open as late as they are. In Vegas, the later is easier to do. When they had lived in many other places there weren’t many options after eight at night. Not to mention the guards at the front of base were a little too chatty for his liking.  

Food trucking was a new phenomenon he was interested in. He’d been doing his research over the last four days. He’s narrowed down about six trucks he wants to try and eat at before the end of the month. The best part about this undertaking is the sheer amount of time it’s going to take him to find these trucks. Most of them have twitter or instagram to update their location. A few do the occasional ‘late night,’ which more or less works for him.

It’s been a few days since he’s talked with Jean. Jean’s texted to say he finished _The Bell Jar_ but Armin can’t bring himself to text back. He wants to, there’s no doubt in his mind that he wants to.

He looks at the time and turns down the volume to his headphones to listen. After a few seconds he hears his grandpa snoring. Standing, he tugs on a light sweater, pulls on his back pack, grabs his headphones, and shuts down his computer. Armin doesn’t grab the keys for his car; just sneaks down the hall and out the front door.

It’s not cold compared to most northern state’s winter but it is brisk. The air is dry and every few minutes a light breeze catches. Before he knows it he’s walked past the park. He shoves his headphones in his ears and sets his phone to shuffle. He’s not yet explored past the park but tonight all his pent up energy has gotten the best of him.

The black path he generally takes to the park starts to take on a bit of an incline. The path isn’t well lit and the leaves rustle in the trees as his sneakers push off the asphalt. He feels reminded of his time in many other states. The times before he had a car; the times when speaking didn’t seem like an option.

As he crests the hill a rec center comes into view. He’s along the back side and the only way he knows it’s a rec is the outdoor pool. It’s too cold, not to mention too late, for the outdoor pool to be open but he approaches anyway. The pool area is surrounded by a tall, green fence made of hollow metal bars. Armin wraps his hands around the bars and presses his face against the cool surface. The scent of chlorine wraps around him and something about it is nostalgic enough to make him close his eyes and let out a deep sigh.

After a moment he pulls away with the intention to look around. As he comes around front he sees large rooms, like studios, along one entire side of the building. The outside walls of the rooms are made of windows that allow him to see in. The doors on the interior have small windows on them and he can see the distinct glow of an indoor pool. Emboldened, he make his way around to the next side of the building. The wall is solid.

He sighs and steps back. His eyes gaze out over the desert landscape and land on a lone, rectangular building. Using the paved path he follows it down the opposite side of the hill from which he came. The doors are solid and the land rises up around the building as if it’s built into the earth. There are no windows on the front so he climbs up around back; there he finds a parking lot that goes right up to the building and along the wall, where the asphalt meets the building, are ventilation windows. A glowing blue light shines through them and Armin drops to his stomach to peek in. He smiles to himself as he takes in the sight of an olympic size pool. He notes it for when the weather is warm.

He spends a little more time exploring the area. There’s a library across from the rec center. Armin wishes he’d known this weeks ago; or at least thought to look it up. The world is too busy to read outside during the day but reading at home during the daylight hours is boring.

Other than that the area is uninteresting. Armin stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket and makes his way back down the black path. He rounds the corner to the park thinking he’s going to clamor down in his usual cement hole but stops short when he sees Jean. He’s sitting on a bench looking really unsure and really uncomfortable.

Armin relaxes his shoulders and lets out a long breath. _Jean_. A few things run through his mind most of which amount to: _why?_

Jean hasn’t noticed him. He can still turn tail and run - pretend like the situation doesn’t seem like Jean was waiting for him. Pretend that his heart isn’t falling in his chest. Pretend like he doesn’t have the slightest inclination towards Jean; romantic or otherwise.

He takes a step back and his sneaker crunches over some askew peebles. Armin stops breathing when he looks up and Jean is glancing over his shoulder at him.

“Armin?” Jean smiles and stands.

Realizing the decision has been made for him Armin stands up straight. “Hey.” He thinks he might be smiling too. “Long time no see, stranger.”

“Yeah, um,” Armin watches Jean curl his hand in his hair. “I tried texting.”

Armin scrambles for an excuse because the real reason, _I’m avoiding you_ , is only a half truth and it sounds much meaner than it needs to be. He grounds himself to a different half truth. “I just needed some time to myself. I haven’t really even left my house until tonight.”

Jean nods, “I know the feeling.”

Something about the way Jean speaks in measured inches assures Armin that Jean does in fact know the feeling. It’s comforting, in it’s own way. “So you finished The Bell Jar?”

Jean’s smile is easy as he stuffs his hands into his pockets and his shoulders go stiff as he contracts the muscles in his back. “Yeah.”

They lock eyes and Armin realizes, in defeat, that even if he kept trying to avoid Jean he’d probably lose.

 

* * *

 

_everything about the pregnancy had been difficult. the morning sickness that never seemed to stop, the fatigue that made lira a shell of herself, the body aches that terry could never quite soothe. so, when one morning terry heard lira screaming from the shower he’d been scared shitless._

_terry threw back the shower curtain and gasped. dripping down the inside of lira’s legs was an off color liquid. her face was contorted and she sobbed once. “i think my water broke.”_

_by the time the hospital staff had her in delivery lira was screaming. in retrospect the labor had been relatively short. only forty-five minutes. she’d done it without an epidural which had done nothing to help the difficult process._

_terry was at a loss. all he could do was watch as she cried and screamed and, honestly, it seemed to him she was in more pain that expressly necessary. there was so much noise, so much fucking noise and then silence. lira collapsed on the bed, her body suddenly lax as she let out an exhausted sigh. then he heard it. crying. high pitched, uncomfortable, baby wails. the doctor held the baby up above lira’s covered knees, his little fists flailed in the air and his toes curled._

_for the first time that day lira cried out of something other than pain. she held her arms out and a nurse set the baby in her arms._

_“mi niño. mi niño,” lira sobbed and kissed her baby. then she was laughing. “how did you get so fat already?”_

_terry reached out and stroked his son’s cheek. “why’d you give your mom such a hard time, kid?”_

_it wasn’t until later when they’d settled in a recovery room that either of them started discussing a name. “let’s name him after family,” lira said as she shifted a bit to give her son a better suckling position._

_“what are you thinking?” terry smoothed back lira’s hair._

_she looked at him. “my grandfather’s name was pedro.”_

_“mine was jean.”_

_lira smiled and looked at him. her little gift from god, her little rock. “jean pedro. i like it.”_

_“me too.”_

 

* * *

 

Jean lays the top of the book across the bridge of his nose and sighs. This book is nothing like the other books Armin had given him to read. Those had a sense of literature; this, though, is definitely something a hormonal teenager reads. The book itself is paperback with a well worn spine and fraying corners. When Jean had teased that the book need to be replaced Armin had tapped him on the head and said, “This book isn’t broken, it’s loved.” The cover is black with a flaming red heart wrapped in barbed wire and reads _Heavy Metal and You._

He’s not sure how much he relates to it. In _The Poisonwood Bible_ he’d been Adah, in _The Secret Life of Bees_ he’d felt a little like Lily, and in _The Bell Jar_ he’d been Esther right up until the end. Here, though, he’s not sure he’s anybody. The conflict, while palpable, is much less meaningful for Jean, at least in the face of what he’s been reading. It’s a wonder Armin loves this book so much.

He texts Armin.

_This book is terrible._

A moment later he gets a response, as if Armin’s disagreement couldn’t be contained.

_How far in are you?_

_50 pages_

_You’re thinking too hard._

Jean sighs and rolls over on his side. He’ll probably finish before he goes to sleep, not that it’s late. He checks the time on his phone. It’s barely nine. He lays the book out flat on his bed and texts Marco.

_watchu playin, brah_

He exaggerates his language knowing it will make Marco laugh.

_dude, you high? lol. playing GTA._

Jean abandons the book for now and turns on his xbox. He mics up and joins a party with Marco. “Hey man.”

“Hey, long time since you’ve been on. I was starting to worry.”

“Eh,” Jean shrugs. “I’ve been reading.”

There’s a pause, “Reading?” Marco sounds disbelieving.

“Yeah. I have to fill my time somehow.”

“What are you reading?” Jeans lists the titles, leaving out the latest until he feels differently about it. “Really? You really read those?”

“Well yeah -”

“Jean, dude, you’re not stupid but you’re not a reader either. In all the time I’ve known you, all you’ve ever done is complain about reading. Like somebody was trying to forcibly remove your kidney and -,” Marco stops short. “Oh my fucking god. You’re seeing someone.”

Jean chokes on air. “What! No! No I’m not.” Marco doesn’t say anything and it prompts Jean to keep talking. “I mean, I met this guy. But were just friends.”

“Uh-huh.” Marco sounds entirely too pleased with himself.

“Dude. I’m fucking serious right now.”

“Whatever,” Marco scoffs just as he rams his car into Jean’s. “So are you going to tell me about your _friend_ or what?”

Jean rolls his eyes despite knowing Marco can’t see the gesture. “His name’s Armin. He’s homeschooled. He doesn’t sleep, like me. So, I don’t know, we keep each other company.” Jean swallows. “It’s nice. He’s nice. Well, actually, he’s pretty great. Like, he’s really smart. And he reads a fuck ton. Seriously whenever we meet up he has this huge backpack with these gigantic books.”

“And,” Marco prompts because Marco just knows how much Jean actually has to say.

“And he’s fucking gorgeous, man. I mean people tell me I’m good looking but, geez, he makes me looking like a fucking farm animal. Like a horse. Just like Eren -” Jean stops. His chest feels tight like he can’t breathe.

Marco’s character stops moving like he’s sensed the shift in atmosphere. “Yo, Jean. You okay?”

_It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault._ Jean pulls at his hair and doubles over. His life is moving on. He has a crush, he now realizes it. Things come after that. Relationships. Kissing. Fucking. Sex. Love. Marriage. Kids. Bills. Taxes. Vacations. Retirement. _Life_. And while Jean knows he might not necessarily experience those things with Armin he knows he could. But, Eren, he’ll never get that chance. “Yeah,” Jean gasps. “Let’s just. Let’s just talk about something else. How are things with you and your boyfriend?

Jean cares about Marco for many reasons and one of those reasons is that he always knows when to drop a subject. “Things are great!” His voice sounds a little forced like he’d rather know what’s wrong. There’s a pause. “I let him fuck me.”

Jean laughs a little and it’s easier to breathe. “Really? How’d that go?”

Marco tells him the story of his defloweration and he eventually falls asleep without finishing the book.

 

* * *

 

_his mom had been buzzing around the house all day which wasn’t that unusual considering her personality but there was something different about her excitement. even armin’s dad was going to come home early. part of him thought maybe they were going to try something dumb, like invite his classmates over for lunch in an attempt to make them friends. his stomach twisted at the thought._

_things at school weren’t the worst they’d ever been. they weren’t the best either but that was another matter._

_when the doorbell rang armin looked over the back of the lazy-boy to the door._

_“oh,” his mom wiped her hands on her pants. “your father should be home by now.”_

_his mom answered the door and armin saw a lady. she had dark brown hair that tapered to her neck and blunt bangs. she wore a floral skirt that came to her calf with a magenta camisole and teal cardigan. “hi!” she smiled. “ you must be claudia.”_

_they shook hands. “and you must be elanor! my husband should be here shortly”_

_“just ella’s fine. let me just grab the cases from my car. i’ll be right back.”_

_“oh. yes. of course!”_

_“momma. who’s that?”_

_“well, baby, that’s ella. she’s here to teach you.”_

_“teach me what?”_

_it was then that richard came through the door carrying a large black case and behind him was ella. “look who i found!” she joked. “lucky for me, too! two of these things are hard to manage.”_

_they ushered her into the living room and armin turned around to watch as the adults settled on the surrounding furniture._

_after a moment his mother turned to him, “baby, this is ella.”_

_ella got up and kneeled down in front of him. she touched his knee gently and gave him a warm smile. “i hear you’re having some trouble at school.” armin’s throat tightened as he prepared to deny it. “but that’s okay,” her voice was calming. “ i’m here to help.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this fear that people skip the flash back scenes that don't directly have to deal with Jean or Armin. So it makes me want to explin myself - I think it's very important in this particular fic to understand that Jean's perception of his parent's isn't entirely accurate. Everybody thinks their parents are unfair when they're in high school. It would be unfair to only display Lira and Terry as unfair and unloving - they're broken. It would be equally unfair to display Clara and Richard as removed and unaware because they are just trying their best. They all are.
> 
> This week's title comes from [Alone Together by FOB](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFhEBmNwX_E). I feel like this song describes both Armin and Jean really well. Both broken, confused and desperate for something to hold on to.
> 
> A word to the wise - I work in a very demanding industry and cannot promise to update anytime in the next three weeks. If I do, however, find time to post between work and crying from exhaustion I will.
> 
> In the mean time you can always check out my[other works.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mindlessadri/works)
> 
> Also, if you drop me a review it might just help me make it through the next three weeks. I'd love to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> Well, I'll see you in 2016


	4. On My Lips; In My Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I don't mind the sun sometimes, the images it shows  
>  I can taste you on my lips and smell you in my clothes  
>  Cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies  
>  You never know just how you look through other people's eyes_
> 
> They're all a little jaded but nobody will say it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Hiatus is over and I don't really anticipate another unless this is still posting during fashion week. 
> 
> There's no present day Armin in this chapter. Truly unfortunate but Armin will get his time in the sun.
> 
> Without further to say I'm going to continue pretending like I have something to do here at work.

The book actually isn’t bad. In fact it seems a lot more relevant now that he’s admitted, at least to himself, that he likes Armin. It may not be winning a Pulitzer but it’s charming and honest. Jean, in fact, finds himself rereading some of the passages. Especially the one’s with the protagonists friends. They make him miss his own friends but the numbness is too prevalent to make him want to do anything about it..

He fiddles with his phone and looks at his texting log. Besides Armin or Mikasa the last text he has from a friend is dated back to mid-January. It reads:  _ jean, are you okay? we miss you. connie’s so worried i think he’s going bald. though it’s hard to tell with that shaved head of his.  _ It’s from Sasha; it had probably been a last ditch effort so get him to come out of his proverbial hibernation.

He only has ten pages left, give or take. He decides to buckle down and get through them. At this point he’s just hoping for a happy ending. The guy deserves it and, well, it doesn’t seem like he’s going to get one. Either way, the sooner he finishes the sooner he can text Armin that he’s done.

Over the last couple days Jean has found himself teetering. Half the time he thinks about Armin and all he can do is feel sick, sad, or guilty. The other half of the time he feels something other than sadness which in itself is something outside the general numbness. He feels like a pack of melting crayons. All beautiful colors dripping down the inside of his ribs that pool, warm and sticky, in his stomach. Beautiful to look at, but tragic in some far off metaphorical sense.

He hears rainfall outside and pushes his curtain back just to confirm. A gray light creeps in the room and he lets the curtain close. Jean goes to send Armin a text when he gets a call.  _ Mikke  _ flashes across the screen. Realizing he can’t avoid her forever he answers.

“Jean.”

“Hey, Mikasa. How are you feeling?”

She sighs. “Sick. I think I just vomited more that I have in my entire life. It’s supposed to get better but it’s not.”

Jean laughs a little. “Shouldn’t you be at school?

“Staff development day. No school.”

“Lucky you?”

He can almost feel her shrug. “I guess. I have an appointment with the gynecologist."

"The what?"

"The baby doctor."

“Oh,” Jean feels like he just ran into a wall.

“Are you going?”

He sits up in his bed and throws his legs over the side. “Um, yeah. Of course. What time?”

“Appointments at one. I’ll pick you up.”

“No,” Jean says quickly. If it’s a staff development day his mom might be home. “I’ll meet you at your house.”

She doesn’t sound suspicious when she speaks. “Okay. I’ll see you in a few hours then.”

They hang up and Jean falls back on his bed to rub his palms against his eyes. “Fuck,” he laments. He supposes he should shower now but, truly, feels no desire to move. He lays there for what feels like a long time. His parents still don’t know and he’s not even sure how to tell them.

Two scenarios run through his mind on how that would go over. Either the baby’s his and his parents hate him because, well, even he can admit that having a baby with your dead brother’s essential soul mate is more than fucked up. Or, the baby is Eren’s and it destroys them because a baby is a shitty consolation gift in the wake of their favorite son.

He stays there long enough for him to start smelling bacon wafting in from the kitchen. The smell drags him out of bed and down the hall. Jean finds his mom standing at the stove. Her hair is swept away from her face in a fabric headband and she’s wearing one of his father’s shirts and a pair of sleep pants. 

“Ma?”

She turns and smiles. “Jean! You’re up early.”

He decides not to correct her and say  _ still up.  _ “Yeah. I smelled food.” Jean notices RC curled up under the table.

“ _ Siéntate _ .  _ La comida _ is almost done.” He does as told as she continues talking. “Your father should be out in a minute.”

“Dad’s home?

She sighs. “Yes. We have a meeting with the insurance today.”

Jean sets his head on the table just as RC gets up to go outside. He looks towards the kitchen. His mom use to make breakfast every sunday morning and his dad always stumbled sleepily into the kitchen and kiss the back of her neck. It was just a small part of his childhood and, yet, he craved it’s familiarity. 

Terry walks into the living room with firm steps. He’s wearing a button-up striped in various shades of blue, and black slacks. Jean regards him quietly as his father rifles through a stack of documents. He takes a seat and Jean sits up in his chair. His father doesn’t look at him and he doesn’t greet his mother. 

Everything feels empty and still full of unease. He’s noticed his parents don’t talk anymore. Sure, they say things to each other but it’s not the same obvious middle-aged flirting or general day to day talking it use to be. If they do talk they are doing it when he’s not around. None of them talk anymore. The house is almost always eerily quiet.

His mom comes over with three plates and sets them down before going back for the  _ tortillas.  _ It’s only when she’s seated that Terry puts down the papers. Terry takes a bite, “You have the housing documents?”

Lira nods. “Yeah. Found them this morning.”

Jean almost asks what housing documents but elects to shake hot sauce on his eggs instead. The last thing he needs is to be in a bad mood when he sees Mikasa. It falls silent again. RC comes in from outside and shakes the rain off himself.

“Damn dog,” Terry mutters.

Jean swallows, “S’not his fault it’s raining.”

 T erry puffs his chest, “No, but if  _ somebody  _ was watching him they could have stopped him from going outside and rolling in the dirt.”

Jean sets his jaw, “He. Is. Not. My. Dog.”

Rosencrantz seems to sense the tension and rolls over to whimper.

“He’s not our fucking dog either.” His father doesn’t speak so much as spit.

Lira stops chewing and stands. “C’mon Terry. We should be leaving. There’s no point in fighting.”

Jean let’s out a breath and continues because there is a certain calmness to fighting. It’s better than silence. “Is he your dog mom?”

She sets her plate in the sink. “No.” Jean watches her raise a hand to her face and wipe at her eyes. “He’s not mine.”

A heavier silence falls over the room and Jean pushes his chair back. He can feel his blood boil. Eren’s dead but they are making it so he’s  _ gone.  _ Thinking about it he knows exactly what Eren would have done. He would have made them talk about it. Eren would have said everything he was feeling. “Thanks for breakfast mom.” 

He steps into the shower just as he hears the front door open and shut. In the hall he can hear RC whining at the bottom of the stairs. “He’s not coming back,” Jean shouts half to Rosencrantz half to the void.

 

* * *

 

_ jean was a crier. lira was about ready to give up. she had known motherhood was hard. hell, she had been the oldest of eight. but, not a one of them had cried this much as a baby. everything bothered him. the heat. the cold. the fan on. the noise from the tv. the sound of food cooking. terry holding him. lira holding him.  _

_ lira was reaching a breaking point. the only time her and terry interacted anymore was when he came home and she handed jean over. _

_ then, she did reach a breaking point. terry was supposed to have been home at six but it was now nearing ten. jean had been crying the last six hours. she’d changed him. fed him. rocked him. burped him. sang to him. pleaded with him. he cried on. the last hour lira had been sitting in the dark of the living room, she had a pillow pulled over her head to block the noise of jean’s screaming.  _

_ when terry found her she was speaking spanish.” _ dios, haz bien a mi hijo. dios, haz bien a mi hijo. dios, haz bien a mi hijo.“

_ “baby. baby, no.” terry made her sit up and pulled her close. “i’m so sorry i’m late. it’s going to be okay.” _

_ lira sobbed. “i’m a bad mom, terry. i can’t even make him stop crying. i love him so much but i don’t know what to do. i’m home all day and he never stops. only when he’s sleeping. why is he in so much pain terry?” _

_ “i don’t know baby but we’ll get through it. i’m going to go grab him. why don’t you call your mom or go get us dinner? get out of the house for a while.” _

_ lira nodded slowly and terry helped her up.  _

_ “you’re a goddess you know that?” he asked as he pushed the car keys into her hand.  _

_ she let out a shaky breath.  _

_ nothing about raising jean was easy. _

 

* * *

 

 

Jean rings Mikasa’s doorbell and shoves his fists into the pockets of his plain, wet,  burgundy pullover. When she answers the door she gave him a muted nod of her head and steps out onto the stoop. Taking his cue Jean goes to her little pick-up as she locks the door to her house. When he hears the sound of the car door unlock he opens it and gets inside. Mikasa joins him a moment later. He looks at her stomach, still flat and tight. She catches his eyes and raises her eyebrow. 

“Sorry.”

She shakes her head, “For being late or for staring?”

Jean shrugs. “Both. I took longer to get ready than I thought I would.” She turns the volume to the radio on and another mix CD picks up. “Did you tell your parents?”

Mikasa nods. “Yep.” 

“How’d that go?”

She sighs, “My mom cried. My dad - well, he didn’t say anything for a long time.” There’s a pause. “My mom asked if I’d considered the alternative.”

He’s not sure he has the right to ask but he does anyway. “Have you?”

She sets her mouth. “Yes and no. I know that abortion is an option, yes. But, no, I know I don’t want that.” Mikasa lets out a slow and steady breath. “My parents know it too. They know how much I love Eren. They’re satisfied with that.”

Without really thinking he starts to speak. “But you know. Eren - it might not be - I could be -” Jean stumbles over his words.

To this Mikasa stays silent. Her hands grip the steering wheel tighter as they rush through the rain.

When they arrive at the doctor’s office Jean stands awkwardly behind Mikasa as she checks herself in. The front desk girl hands Mikas a clipboard and directs them to wait until called. The waiting room is full for a Monday. It might just be Jean but it feels like they all turn to look at them as they step onto the carpet. Almost like they see them for what they are: two scared shitless teenagers. 

Babies play on the carpeted floor with some toys provided by the facility. One lady has a toddler sitting between her knees and her stomach is in the late stages of pregnancy. There are fewer men there than children. In fact, Jean is one of two. The other is the type of guy that’s been called ‘Beanpole’ his entire life. He has mused brown hair, square frame glasses, and angular cheeks hidden by a purposeful stubble. The only two seats left happen to be by this man. Mikasa sits farthest from him leaving Jean the seat next to him.

Jean leans over the armrest and catches a glimpse of a few choice phrases on the clipboard; _ menstrual cycle, contraception, number of sexual partners.  _ “Um,” Jean stops what he was about to say short, “Do you need help?”

Mikasa shakes her head slowly. “Nope. This is the easy part.” He watches her mark one under  _ number of sexual partners. _

“Okay.” Jean reclines in the chair and drums his fingers on the glossed wood. Across the aisle a mom is holding her baby. It has hardly any hair and if it wasn’t for the pink studs in the baby’s earlobes Jean isn’t sure he could make out the gender. They begin a staring contest. Jean doesn’t smile at the baby in fact he’s sure his face is riddled with mild fascination and disgust as she starts to drool onto her bib. She wins when she farts and her face breaks into a huge smile which causes him to grimace.

The guy next to him laughs. “What? She’s a baby.”

Jean shifts in his seat as he fails to relax his face. “It’s still kind of gross.”

The man shrugs, “Babies are gross.” Jean can’t get the look off his face and the guy laughs at him before extending his hand. “Shaun.”

“Jean,” he replies as he shakes Shaun’s hand.

“So, having your first?” Shaun nods to Mikasa who’s occupied with her paperwork.

Jean feels suddenly exposed. “I, uh.”

Shaun laughs easily. “Don’t worry. You can’t even tell.” Shaun leans into him and uses his hands to try and paint a picture. “See, she looks calm and poised, like she’s here for a good health check. You, kid, on the other hand, look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

He almost feels like he might try to defend himself but then he smiles. “Yeah. I guess I probably do.”

Shaun taps him lightly in the shoulder. “So, back to the question, having your first?”

“I, uh,” Jean rubs the back of his head and leans in a little to whisper. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean -” he stops short and makes a ‘o’ with his mouth. “Gotcha.”

Jean feels like he should say something, like he should defend Mikasa or even himself but he falters. He jumps when Shaun yells.

“Hey! You take that gotdamn binky out your mouth, Tiff.” 

Jean looks to where Shaun is pointing across the waiting room to a children’s play area. A little blond girl with dark eyes stares back. She’s wearing black and white striped leggings, one lime green mary jane, one pink converse and a halloween pumpkin shirt. She has a binky between her teeth and a chubby hand on the blunt end of it

Shaun shoves his finger in her direction. “Out. Now.” She obeys. “Give it to the baby’s mom.” Tiff does slowly. “You’re a big girl now. No binkies. Now, behave or no Joe’s Crab Shack for you.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she goes back into the play area.

“Let me give you some advice on kids, Jean. They are messy. There’s no getting around that. You have no idea how many fluids can come out of a body that small until you have one. You can never have enough diapers. Everything they do is funny even when it’s not. I have another one, with my wife right now, he’s trying to walk. When he falls he just gives up and flops on his back like the universe just fucked him up. They become you. You’ll notice people will ask about you and the first thing you’ll respond with is that you’re a father. That’s okay. Being a dad is great. Birthdays, dress up, secrets from mom, being able to watch cartoons without judgment. Most important, though, it gets easier. You’ll be okay.”

Just then a lady in her mid twenties comes out of the back. She has a baby on her hip and her stomach is round. “Marta, babe.” Shaun stands and goes to take the little boy from her. “Tiff, let’s go.” Shaun waves as him and his family leave.

Jean is struck by how happy Shaun looks. He can’t be much older than Jean, he thinks. His kids have given him purpose and Jean can feel something stir in his chest like longing. He looks back to Mikasa. She’s still going to town on her paperwork. It crosses his mind that she’d be a good mom. Tough but fair. Blunt but loving. Poised but candid. 

The wait is long and he almost wishes he hadn’t finished reading that book so he could have brought it along to keep himself busy. He twiddles his thumbs until they are called back. The room is peach colored with a lot of fake fauna and diagrams of pregnant women and vaginas. It makes him a little uncomfortable. The nurse asks Mikasa to change into a robe and when she slides her eyes to him he holds up his hands as he turns around. The picture is of a full term baby inside the mother. It’s body presses on her organs and the head sits right above the cervix. Jean isn’t quite clear on what a cervix is but he imagines it’s important to be labeled in bold font. 

“Okay,” Mikasa says, prompting Jean to turn around. She’s sitting on the edge of the table with her ankles crossed. 

Jean slides into a chair against the wall. “So. Here we are.”

She snorts like what Jean said has a lot more meaning for her than a ‘silence filler.’ “Yeah. Here we are.”

“Why didn’t your mom come?”

She shrugs. “Conference in Laguna. Dad’s just at work.” There’s a moment, “She wanted to though just in case they can tell us the sex of the baby. I don’t know if I’m far enough along for that though.”

“What are you hoping it’ll be?”

Mikasa thinks. Her jaw is set and her lip rolls into her mouth to stop it from giving her away. “A boy.”

“Yeah,” Jean imagines a little boy running around the house, playing with RC, calling out ‘Dad’. “That’d be nice.”

Mikasa’s looking at him. Her eyes are angry but sad. She starts to speak but stops herself like she’s thought better of what she initially wanted to say. “Have you told your parents yet?”

“Uhm,” Jean licks his lips and sits up straight. He thinks he’s about to lie when there’s a knock and a moment later the doctor walks in.

She has springy red hair and a plump body. “I’m Doctor Silva. You must be Mikasa. Your mother and I were friends in med school.”

Mikasa shakes her hand. “Yes. She told me. Thank you for seeing me so soon after your vacation.”

Dr. Silva turns her attention to Jean. “Who’s this?”

“Jean. He’s a friend.”

The doctor nods her head. “I see. Well, then let’s get started.”

Jean sits idly by as Dr. Silva asks a series of questions that make very little sense to him. Mikasa, though, answers them all without hesitation. Then it’s Mikasa’s turn and she asks about how long it will be before she’s showing, if she can finish out her lacrosse season, if the prenatal vitamins she’s taking are the best ones, ect.

After the doctor has her lean back and she pulls out some stirrups from beneath the padding of the table. “Just going to do a quick check to make sure everything looks healthy then we’ll do an ultrasound to see about how many weeks along your are.”

Jean raises his eyebrows and looks at Mikasa who just sort of smiles at him as the doctor covers her legs.

 

* * *

 

 

_ “good armin,” ella said as she paced around him. “you’re learning very fast.” _

_ he relaxed his bow hand. they’d been at it a month but today was the first time he’d come to ella’s house for his lesson. the streets on the base were being repaved and all the cars had to be off the street, meaning she wouldn’t have been able to park close by. “you really think so?” _

_ ella kneeled in front of him and put her hand on his thigh. “of course. boys as smart and adorable as you usually pick it up quite fast.” she stood and cupped armin’s chin. “i have cookies. would you like some?” _

_ “but we haven’t finished practicing.” _

_ “it’s okay every once in awhile. especially if i’m rewarding good behavior.”  _

_ she extended her hand to him and he took it after setting down his cello. ella pulled him into her kitchen and sat him at the table. “just give me one minute.” _

_ armin watched her go to the fridge, pour a glass of milk, and grab three cookies. ella came back to the table and pushed the food his way. she sat right next to him and folded her hands under her chin. “armin. i think you’re a very promising student.” _

_ he already had half a cookie in his mouth. it was a little dry which made it hard to swallow. “thank you. i really enjoy it.” _

_ she smiled at him and her eyes fell. “you know all the great musicians say that their instrument is like an extension of their body. the same is true for most things that require talent. the brush is part of the artist. the pen is part of the writer. the ball is part of the athlete. the instrument is part of the musician.” _

_ “so the cello is part of me?” _

_ she shrugged and relaxed her hands. “it could be if you want it to be.” ella scrunched her brow like she was thinking hard. “you just lack direction.” _

_ “but I have you!” armin argued. “aren’t you here to help me?” _

_ her face lit up like she’d caught a fish. “you’re right! you’re so smart, armin! i could help you get to know your body.” _

_ armin smiled at her. “so the cello will be like an extension of my body.” _

_ she leaned in close resting her nose on the side of his face. her hand came to his midthigh. “that’s right baby.” _

 

* * *

 

 

Jean is sitting at Mikasa’s bedside she has a blanket over her legs and the gown is pulled up under her breasts. 

“Alright now. This is going to be a little cold but don’t worry it’ll warm up in no time.”

The ultrasound technician squeezes the tube over Mikasa’s lower abdomen and spreads it around with the rounded end of her machine.

“That’s not going to hurt the baby? I mean ‘ultrasound’ sounds kind of bad for baby.”

The technician laughs. “No. The baby will be fine. Just give me a second and there they are!” The tech points to a luminescent mass on the screen. She turns to look at Mikasa. “Say hello to your baby mama.”

Jean hears Mikasa sob once but his eyes can only focus on the screen. His chest inflates and turns to liquid all at once. He shoves his palm into his eye to stop himself from crying. It scares him because he doesn’t know if he feels this way because he sees part of his brother on the screen or part of himself. The tech starts pointing out the head and the feet before she begins to take measurements. “Do you want pictures?”

Mikasa nods. So does Jean. “Looks like you’re roughly fifteen to seventeen weeks along. I could tell you the sex but the little one has themselves turned around. I can’t get a good angle.”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to know yet anyway.”

“Maybe on your next visit,” the tech smiles and starts to clean up.

She hands Jean his copy of the photo. He’s looking at it as if it could be burned into his memory. “When can a paternity test be done?”

The tech looks to Mikasa and something passes between them. “I should really let the doctor answer that. She’ll know when it’s okay.”

Jean nods then turns to Mikasa. “I’ll meet you in the waiting room then.” The reception area is somehow more packed than it had been earlier so he steps outside. His phone buzzes as he leans against the building. The rain drips off the awning and falls beyond it.

His body somehow feels tired. It’s not the same tired he generally feels from lack of sleep. It goes beyond that and pierces his bones like an infection. It takes every ounce of energy that remains to keep his mind clear.  _ She’s having a baby. Maybe, my baby. _

Mikasa walks out and Jean pushes off the wall to follow her to the truck. “When’s your next appointment?”

“I asked them to call later to schedule a follow up. They were busy.”

_ What if it’s my baby.  _ Jean doesn’t say anything on the ride back. Mikasa seems indifferent to his silence. He figures she probably has a lot on her mind, being a soon-to-be-mom and everything. When she drops him off he doesn’t close the door right away. “You’ll let me know when the next appointment is?”

She nods. “Of course. Get some sleep.”

Jean smiles and closes the door. He waves as her truck recedes into the distance. He crosses the lawn and opens the door. A few things seem suddenly wrong. For starters the door’s unlocked. He wiggles the handle a few times like that will change the fact he’s already standing in the doorway. Second, Rosencrantz hasn’t come to greet him. 

As quietly as possible he shuts the door. Nothing looks disturbed. The TV is still there along with everything else that looks expensive. He goes to the glass patio door and looks out at the backyard hoping to see RC. It’s empty.

He’s starting to think maybe he’d forgotten to lock the front door and his paranoia is a product of the insomnia. Jean jiggles the handle on the back door, it’s locked. He resigns himself to accepting he forgot to lock the door. He goes back to the front door and turns the deadbolt.

Jean sighs. Maybe he can sleep. It feels like his body might be ready to let him. He’s just outside his door when he hears hushed laughter. Operating on fight or flight instinct Jean throws his door open. 

Connie jumps out of the banana chair in front of the tv and rips the headset off. “Holy fuck man!” Connie yells at him. “You scared the shit out of me!”

Jean’s breathing heavy. “I scared the shit out of  _ you _ ? You scared the shit out of me! How the fuck did you ever get in here?” He looks around his room. Nothing is disturbed but RC is laying on his floor with his stomach upturned “RC get out.” Jean snaps and RC stands to walk out of the room.

“We’ve been friends a good majority of our lives Jean. I know where the spare key is.” Connie turns off the xbox and stands.

“Point. That doesn’t mean you should be breaking into my house and waiting like a creep in my room.”

Connie thinks this over. “Point. It was raining though.”

Jean sighs. “Point. You know I’m allergic to that dog though.”

Connie puts his hands in the air. “Point. He looked pathetic in the hall though.”

“Point,” Jean relents. “You can stay but you have to vacuum the room.”

“Fair enough.” Connie reaches in his pocket. “I brought a peace offering though.” He turns the blunt through his fingers.

Jean rolls his eyes. “I’ll make us food.” Jean goes to the kitchen and makes them sandwiches. Two fried PB&Js. Two grilled cheese with mayo and hot sauce. Two over easy eggs with leftover bacon on raisin bagels. It's really just a mishmash of what he can find in the kitchen. That's fine, twenty minutes from now he won't care. Maybe that's just what he need, he thinks.

He comes back to his bedroom holding a platter just as Connie finishes rolling up the vacuum cord. Jean sets the platter on his tv stand then crawls across his bed to crank open the window. Connie sits across from Jean and crosses his legs as he turns the blunt over in his hands. He burns the paper and things are so silent between them Jean can hear the paper crinkle in the flame. 

“So,” Connie says as he puts the end of the joint to his mouth. He inhales and holds it as he passes it to Jean. “How are - things?” His smoke travels out the window.

Jean hits it hard and thinks there are many things he could talk about. Mikasa, Armin, his brother (or lack thereof), his parents and how none of them talk to each other anymore, the numbness. “Fine.”

Connie takes the blunt and hits it again. “You know, uh, we miss you man. Like at school and stuff.” He offers it to Jean and he takes it. 

As he hits he thinks it’s going to be gone if he keeps smoking it the way he is. He has nothing to say to Connie. There’s no way he could understand what he’s going through. Before everything happened Connie had been his best friend. Now he looks at him and is only reminded of how he hardly knows himself anymore. 

They finish the blunt in relative silence and Jean spreads out on his bed. Connie turns on his music at some point and Jean can feel the vibrations of Prince in his fingertips. He’s stoned in the best way. The numbness is still there but it’s okay because everything he needs to feel is physical. The sheets, the hair on his stomach as he gets lost in the sensation of guiding his fingers over it, the warmth of the humidity seeping in through the window. He closes his eyes and relaxes into his mattress. 

“Bro,” Connie muses. “It’s been a long time since we’ve done this.”

“Mmm,” Jean agrees. He’s not sure how Connie is still talking, he feels hardly able to have a coherent thought.

Taking cue, Connie turns on the xbox and boots up netflix. Jean doesn’t care what they watch so long as he doesn’t have to choose. High Jean doesn’t make decisions outside of what to stuff his face with. But it’s not time. He’s not the right kind of high yet. 

Connie puts Zoolander on and they both laugh as they try to imitate blue steel. Neither of them talk, not really. Connie makes comments about the movie and every once in awhile he tries to reel Jean in with open ended statements like, “Sash is doing well,” or, “Coach keeps asking about you,” or, “You could probably still go to prom.” Jean doesn’t bite, partly because he’s too stoned to be mad at Connie for trying and partly because he doesn’t know how to care about what Connie is saying.

He grabs the food and starts munching. The flavors feels thick in his mouth and then he remembers that’s probably the peanut butter. They munch through the food and finish with the movie. Connie sits up and so does Jean. He feels a little clearer but not much. Just clear enough to say what he needs to say. “We probably shouldn’t do this again.” Jean stands and walks out of the room.

Connie follows close behind. “W-what?”

They are standing by the front door now. “I just,” Jean sighs. His breath feels warm against his tongue and he swears he can still taste the weed. “I just need more time.”

He watches Connie’s face twist with rage and concern. “You’ve had time. People are fucking worried about you man. You cut everyone off and you refuse to talk about him. Eren’s fucking dead man. He’s gone and he wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”

Jean’s too high to be truly angry but he still feels it in his stomach like a forgotten landmine. “Fuck you man.” Jean opens the door. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Connie shakes his head and Jean thinks he almost looks sad as he ducks his head, pulls up his hood, "Forget you man." Connie turns and leaves. 

Jean walks back down the hall. Rosencrantz is sitting at the bottom of the stairs to the attic. He walks over and pats RC. This is the closest he’s been to Eren’s room since - he can’t remember when. He looks up the stairs where the door is shut. “How the fuck does he know what you want?”

His throat feels tight. He’s never  _ talked _ to Eren before, he reasons he did it because he’s high as balls. Jean turns back to his room and closes the door behind himself. 

Without much else to do he collapses on his bed. Outside the rain has picked up and the sound of it drums against the window pane. He reaches into his pocket and digs out his phone. He looks at the screen and sees he has a snap from Armin. Jean rolls over to face the wall as he unlocks his phone and opens the app. 

He taps the appropriate icon and a picture of Armin with his head cocked to the side and his hand making a Vanna White type gesture pops onto his screen with an overlay that reads, “did you die?” Without thinking Jean saves the photo just before it disappears. He reopens it in his gallery. His thumb ghosts over Armin’s face, his phone takes it as a tap and zooms in on the picture. There’s a light smattering of freckles over Armin’s nose, he notices. He scrolls over the picture, Armin’s mouth is pink and gorgeously bow shaped with a well defined apex.

It starts in his thighs, this heat that, really, he hasn’t felt in a long time. Not since - he pushes the thought out of his mind. He palms himself through his pants and lets out a small sigh. The feeling spreads to his groin. Tapping the screen of his phone again Jean zooms out on the picture. It’s only then that he notices Armin’s bare collarbones and the tops of his shoulders.

Quickly, he undoes his pants and kicks them to the foot of the bed. He’s half hard and looking at Armin. He’s too stoned to contemplate the moral ambiguity of jerking off to a picture of a guy who he’s not romantically involved with. He, in a broad, far off sense, knows it’s wrong. He does it anyway.

Jean carefully strokes his curved cock, puts the reddened tip in the palm of his hand to spread his precum, and sighs against his pillow. The feeling doesn’t start and end with his cock. It spreads over his body in a pulsating, zig-zag pattern that chokes him until the only sounds he can make are little gasps into his shoulder. 

The picture fades and he taps the screen. Armin’s shoulders are tan but the rest of him seems pale. Almost as if his shoulders have long since tired of being burned. There’s patches of freckles across each side that Jean imagines continue down his back. His toes curl in his sock and he squirms until he’s turned over on his knees. He puts his head to his pillow and breathes heavily into his chest. His phone light dims and Armin’s picture fades just as he comes hot and dirty into his hand.

He falls on his back and holds up his hand to the gray light streaming in through the window. His cum shines, just slightly opaque, across his fingers. Knowing he has to do something about it he rips off his shirt and uses it to clean himself. He sits up feeling half guilty and half horny, it’s then he sees the huge wet spot on his sheets from the rain blowing in through his window. He tosses his shirt across the room  and turns to close his window. As he does he sees the blinds from the house next door swing like somebody has just moved away from them. He thinks of that old lady watching him get off and laughs hysterically.

Somehow his phone ends up on the floor and he rolls off his bed to grab it. He also grabs the book. He lays it cover down on his face and holds his phone up to take a selfie of his book face. It does not escape him it’s probably not as funny as he thinks it is. He snaps the picture to Armin and falls asleep in a pool of gray sun on his bedroom floor.

 

* * *

 

 

_ lira finally slept through the night when jean turned three months old. the doctors had put tubes in his ears and that relieved the chronic ear infection he’d had since birth. she’d slept thirteen hours. when she woke she turned over and stretched out in the morning sun. across the room jean was sleeping in his bassinet.  _

_ throwing her legs off the bed lira stood. she wore a thin, cotton, yellow nightgown with small flowers and lace at the edges. she stood over jean and smiled. his small lips smacked together as he stirred then relaxed with a small sigh. lira felt tears prick her eyes and she wiped at them. of course he was tired. he’d cried for so long. she felt terrible for ever questioning her undying love for him. _

_ the noise of breakfast being made drifted down the hall to the room. lira turned away from jean and walked down the hall to the kitchen. _

_ when she came to the kitchen lira leaned against the fridge, “hola, mi amor.” _

_ terry looked over his shoulder and smirked. “where’s jean.” _

_ "sleeping,” lira stepped into the kitchen. she pushed her face against terry’s spotted back. “he slept through the whole night.” he chucked and she felt it with her hands, which were placed on his chest. “you are making me breakfast?” _

_ " _ _ i was going to surprise you.” _

_ she set her mouth against his back and kissed him, open and sloppy. terry stilled, turned off the stove, and set the pan on the back burner. “is it safe?” terry asked as lira licked up his spine. _

_ lira reached around, grabbed terry’s hand, and brought it back to her sex. his hand adjusted and his middle finger rubbed against the swollen nub between her lips. she rocked her hips against his hand and moaned breathy in his ear.  _

_ terry lost his patience and turned around. he picked her up and lira shrieked as a smile crossed her face. he set her on the counter and dragged her hips to the edge. “jesus i was starting to think you were never going to be ready,” terry said as he dropped his sleep pants. _

_ he was already strikingly hard, the pink tip shining in the early morning daylight. his calloused palm shoved lira’s nightgown up her thighs “it would have been sooner if jean -” lira gasped as terry pushed into her moist slit. she clung to him, one hand digging into the meat of terry’s shoulder and the other grasping at his hair.  _

_ his strokes were hard and long as he pulled out then snapped his hips forward to bury himself inside her. he wrapped his arm around lira’s waist and moved the other from her thigh to the back of her head. her hair was short, it use to be down to her mid back, but she’d cut it in anticipation of a grabby baby. he loved it, he loved her, everything about her. even the way her hair bobbed back and forth at her jawline each time he bottomed out in her.  _

_ “terry,” she gasped. her nails dug into her husband. she pushed her hips down and wrapped her legs higher on his torso. with every thrust of his pelvis he stimulated her exposed clit. lira’s breath began to hitch.  _

_ terry bent at the waist as much as possible and put his mouth to lira’s. he pushed his tongue in wildly and lira followed his lead. pulling away he found a new appreciation for the way her tits bounced with each of his thrusts. he growled without meaning to and tugged the top of her dress down beneath her breasts. he moved the hand from her waist and began massaging her chest. going to touch her nipple he was struck with an idea. he pushed his thumb into her mouth and lira coated it in a generous layer of saliva. terry brought his hand back to her tit and ghosted his thumb against her nipple. the nipple contracted and the delicate flesh began to goose. _

_ lira felt herself shiver, her orgasm building. she raised herself up and bit the junction of terry’s shoulder as she came. she released him and let out a nearly violent cry.  _

_ her walls spasmed around him and terry followed soon after her. her rode out his orgasm buried deep inside her.  _

_ they both looked down to where they were joined and then back up at each other. they laughed, just slightly disbelieving. the two of them kissed. terry pushed lira’s hair out of her eyes as he pulled his hips away to slip himself out of her, warm and sticky.  _

_ lira jumped off the counter, she could feel cum dripping down the inside of her thighs.  _

_ “we probably should have used protection.” terry commented as he pulled his pants back up. _

_ she shrugged. “probably. but what are the chances of having another baby so soon?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter title comes from [Pepper](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CO8vBVUaKvk) by the Butthole Surfers. Surprisingly enough the song is most commonly agreed to be about heroin which is a little bit more fitting for [another fic I wrote.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2793734)
> 
> One of my favorite parts of writing this fic was demonstrating how often, as young adults, we tend to believe our experiences to be ours and ours alone. Something that other's don't understand in the same primal way we do. However; life experiences - sex, love, despair, loss, youth, ect. - are more or less universal. If Jean understood this his relationship with his parents might be better. 
> 
> Mikasa won't show up for a few more chapters. Before I even began writing this Mikasa and her pregnancy had a larger role in the story. As I began writing though tackling her relationship with Jean became.... overwhelming. There are a lot of complex relationships to show in this and, as a novice writer, adding and maintaining another was difficult. Jean doesn't end up going to another appt. with Mikke. She doesn't want him to so she doesn't invite him and he's to wrapped up in his own despair/Armin to notice. Mikasa, alone, probably deserves a subchapter.
> 
> Shaun, an OC introduced in this chapter, was supposed to have a supporting role. When I had initially thought Jean was going to go to the majority of Mikasa's appts. Shaun was going to be there with his wife. I was very much looking forward to building a mentor sort of character with him and having him offer more adult insight to Jean's life. But since I decided to trim the fat he got cut out. Had I kept him the end result of Mikasa's pregnancy would have been more decisive. you'll see what I mean in chapter 11.
> 
> Wow, that's a lot of notes. My bad.
> 
> I'm done!
> 
> Please kudos my fic if you haven't already and if you have, congrats; you've graduated and get to leave a comment, if you so please.
> 
> Never fear! More Jearmin works [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mindlessadri/pseuds/cunttwatula)


	5. Ignite the Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fight it,  
>  Take the pain, ignite it_
> 
> Tensions boil over only to be caught by the mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola. Gotta whole-lotta Armin for you this chapter.  
> We all need a break from Jean every once in a while. ^^

It’s wednesday when Jean meets up with Armin again. It’s not planned, their interactions hardly ever are. Armin had sent Jean a snap of the light pole he is still sitting next to with an overlay that said:  _ dare you to find me.  _ It had taken twenty minutes for Jean to emerge from the black path.

He sits next to Armin, a cautionary gap between their thighs. “Hey,” Jean says a little lamely. He holds up the paperback, “Brought your book.”

Armin takes it and turns it over in his hand. “What did you think?”

“It was sad. You know, how they don’t end up together. But, I guess it was for the best.”

Armin nods. “I really like the voice of the author. He has a strange grit. It’s unapologetic. He’s like, ‘I’m going to write a book about a metal head falling in love and there’s nothing you can do about it.’ It’s original in a sea of shitty teenage romance novels.”

Jean smiles at him flirtatiously, at least that’s how Armin is reading it. “You’re the type of person who thinks the flowers growing in sidewalk cracks should be commended for their tenacity.” 

Armin cocks his head to the side. “Does that happen here? I mean, the heat, right?”

He snorts, amused. “Nah. Doesn’t happen here. But I hear it happens other places.”

“Anyway, the point I was  _ trying  _ to make was that, sometimes it doesn’t take much to be different in literature. People think they need entirely new ideas that have never been presented before. All they really need is a new angle to make themselves original because, often times, the central idea has already been recycled more times than you could count.”

Jean doesn’t say anything, just mulls over what Armin’s said. It’s been days since Connie was over, he can barely remember the happenings of their time together. Except the things he wishes he could forget. He always remembers when he’s been an asshole. It’s a curse, really. It’s vague, but he  _ does  _ remember severing his ties to Connie with the same sort of finality as death. He also remembers jerking off, not because he always remembers jerking off, but because he doesn’t remember the last time he’d jerked off before that. Also, maybe, because Armin looks fucking gorgeous.

Armin stands and stretches on his toes. He raises his arms above his head and his shirt rides up to reveal his sharp hipbones. He’s wearing tight light wash jeans, a blue v-neck, and a black hoodie with a stiff silver zipper. His hair is swept back in a loose ponytail that manages to frame his face. 

“Well, let’s go,” Armin says, trying hard not to notice Jean staring at him. Everything would be so much easier if Jean wasn’t so fucking obvious.

“Go where?” Jean fumbles out of his seat. He hadn’t signed up to go anywhere.

Armin raises his eyebrows, “An adventure?”

Jean follows, but that doesn’t stop him from mumbling, “That doesn’t answer my question.” Armin just laughs at him.

Armin leads them back down the path, the same way Jean comes from. Parked on the street there is a black sedan. 

“This your car?” Jean asks as Armin rounds the driver’s door. 

He looks over the hood at Jean. “Uh, yeah.” He can feel himself smile as he yanks open his door. Armin hits the lock button inside so Jean can join him.

Armin’s car is small. It screams, early two thousands. The upholstery is tearing at the edges of the seats to reveal the off-yellow spongy padding. The carpet is gray with stains where there’s the most foot traffic. “What kind of car is this?”

“Two-thousand Honda Civic. My parents bought her for me after we left New Orleans. I guess they thought it was safer than walking? Really, though, it just made for some quiet drives between bases.” Armin plugs his phone in and a whiny high-pitched man starts coming through the speakers accompanied by instrumentals that strangely reminds Jean of a carnival.

“Your car’s a girl?”

Armin smirks at him, “Yep. Marsha.” He taps the dash before starting the car and cracking the windows.

As they drive Jean takes inventory of Armin’s car. It’s not a mess exactly, but it is lived in. The seat behind the driver’s chair is filled with books. They’re meticulously stacked according to size. The space behind his chair has a filebox with no lid. One of the hanging folders has a tab that says:  _ free stuff.  _ The others say:  _ close by, cost money, not close. _

They stop at a light and Armin unbuckles his seatbelt to reach to the files behind Jean. He fumbles for a moment and the light turns green. The car behind them pulls around with an angry blair of the horn. Armin finally finds the brochure and fixes it in the cup holder. 

Jean peers at the front. It’s a picture of the Stratosphere, a casino on the north most end of Las Vegas Boulevard. “Is that where we’re going?”

Armin nods, “Yep. That’s the plan.”

The strange metal carnival continues all the way there. While he’s lived in Vegas his whole life Jean’s never really gone on The Strip. His class went once when  _ The Lion King _ was still showing at the Mandalay Bay, but he’s never just  _ gone.  _ Armin navigates the streets without a GPS, like he’s grown up there. Jean peers at him, eyebrows raised.

Armin looks over and snorts. “What?”

“You know the city really well.”

“Well, I can’t always be hanging out with you, or at the park, or in my room. It’s a big city. Lots to do,” Armin reasons with him. “And, tonight, I’m taking you with me.”

“You do this kind of stuff a lot?”

He shrugs and turns into the parking garage. “Kind of. I make lists when I first get anywhere. That’s not right, exactly. First I research things to do where I am. Then I call and ask for the brochures to be mailed. Most places do it no problem. Then I organize them and wait for the right time.”

“What’s the right time?”

Armin shrugs. “Whenever I feel like I can’t be alone, I guess.” 

They find a parking spot. Armin, for all his worth, cannot park a car. It takes him three tries to get it straight and center. Not that he’s a bad driver but Jean now understands the various dents at the front and backend of Armin’s car. They take an elevator to the casino level. The smell of stale smoke hits Jean’s nose full force. The chiming of the slots resounds off the walls and flattened, poorly patterned carpet. 

Armin doesn’t look like he belongs there, hell, neither does Jean. The thing about Armin, however, is he looks like he had purpose in being there. Armin leads the way through the crowd, which is thin by Vegas standards considering it’s not holiday season and it’s the middle of the week. 

They come to a counter with a bored attendant. Armin shoos Jean away towards another elevator and meets him a few minutes later. “Hand,” he demands. Jean holds his hand up and lets Armin put the wristband on him. “Let’s go.” 

The attendant at the elevator swipes a security card and ushers them in. He doesn’t go with them, just hits a button and steps out. The elevator creaks as it builds speed. To Jean it feels like it wobbles back and forth. His chest feels tight and his ears pop twice.

“You okay?” Armin’s looking at him.

Jean swallows. “Yeah.”

“You afraid of heights?”

He remember somebody once saying to him that elevators are really just vertical coffins. “I don’t think so. I think, maybe, it’s the elevator.”

Against his better judgement, Armin reaches between them and links their pinkies together. His heart is thumping in his chest and it really shouldn’t mean this much. Jean’s finger tightens around his and Armin looks up. Jean is looking at him steadily. 

Jean doesn’t move to put their hands together just looks at Armin. His cheeks are rosy and he looks lost, like he can’t believe the present touching of their fingers. Jean can hardly believe it himself. His body feels suddenly cold everywhere that isn’t in contact with Armin, like he’s dead. Like he’s rotting in the earth and he can never get back up.

The elevator dings and Armin’s pinky slips from his as he leads the way out to the top of the stratosphere. A light breeze kicks up Armin’s open hoodie. His hair flies softly around his face and he raises his hand to let his hair down as if trying to catch the wind and let it take him. His smile grows wide and he looks to Jean with the red lights from the needle glinting in his blue eyes. It’s the first time Jean has seen Armin look so free.

“There’s not even anyone here,” Jean calls out to him.

“They’re about to shut down for the night. C’mon, they’re waiting on us.” Armin skips off towards the needle with Jean following dutifully behind him. 

Jean’s not quite clear on what they’re doing until he’s face to face with the Big Shot. The ride lines the red needle

“Just pick a seat anywhere so we can shut this fucker down,” the attendant says when Jean stops.

Wasting no time Armin goes for the side that faces the south end of The Strip. The lights glitter against the dark, desolate, desert horizon. As Jean stands looking out from the deck of the ride he can’t help but feel isolated. The air down on the street is warm enough to promise heat in the morning, but a hundred stories up, give or take, the breeze bites like an eager lover. The feeling aligns within him. He’s the only one who feels the biting cold in an otherwise warm world and nobody understands he needs a jacket.

“Jean!” 

He looks away from The Strip and to Armin. He’s swinging his feet from the seat he’s chosen.

“Let’s go!” Armin smiles at Jean, “We’re the last two here. These people want to go home.”

He sits next to Armin and puts on his restraints. The attendant does the count down and suddenly they’re shooting up the needle at what feels like eighty miles per hour. Next to him, Armin giggles like a madman until they come to a stop and he lets out a gasp.

They stop at the top and they have mere seconds to look over the city. Everything seems smaller higher up, Jean just feels smaller. He looks up. There’s a singular desert cloud looming above them, blocking the nonexistent stars. He tries to stop himself but can’t. Jean wonders if Eren ever did this, if he ever felt this rush, saw the city,  _ their  _ city, from the top of the only building you can see no matter where a person was in the greater Las Vegas area. If Eren’s above him, this is the closest he’s been to him since, well since. Jean reaches his arm up, like he’s going to touch the cloud, and then they’re falling. Falling away from Eren and this isolated place where Jean would rather be, even if he is alone. He’s falling back to the same bullshit, the broken family, the broken friendship, the broken shell of himself.

Armin takes his hand as they fall, and Jean doesn’t look down to see if they’re going to hit the ground.

 

* * *

 

 

_ “armin, baby. you can’t tell your parents, right?” ella was crouched in front of armin, one hand carding through his hair and the other resting on the back of his thigh with her thumb fingering the edge of his underwear. _

_ armin nodded furiously. “i won’t tell.” he couldn’t tell. he was sure, in the deepest part of his mind, he’d never be able to tell anybody about ella.  _

_ she kissed his cheek, then his neck, “now get dressed before your mom gets here.” _

 

* * *

 

Armin wakes up in a cold sweat. The contents of his stomach retches so violently he can hear it echo off the walls of his room. He kicks the covers off and scrambles for the bathroom. The seat is already up as he collapses to vomit. 

He sits back against the wall and pulls his knees to his chest. Each breath feels like it’s being involuntarily pulled into his lungs through something like sticks or jagged glass. Armin puts his head between his knees and keeps forcing himself to breathe. 

_ Find something to hold on to. Find something to hold on to.  _ Armin repeats the thought in his head until he finds something, a lyric from a song he’s been listening to lately.  _ The horrors of the night melt away/under the warm glow of the survival of the day/then we move on/my shadow grows taller, along with my fears/and my frame shrinks smaller as the night grows near. _

He concentrates on taking deep breaths until, finally, he can feel his body again and not everything his body feels. Armin stands and leans over the sink. With purpose he brushes his teeth. He counts each stroke of the brush and gags and he scrubs away the taste of vomit from his tongue. 

Looking in the mirror he takes inventory of his body. His skin is as pale as always. No marks outside of the few freckles on his shoulders, there use to be marks and he’d lie about them to his parents. “This is my body,” he says to himself. Armin sets his hands on his hips and fingers the white cotton of his boxers.

Before he goes back to his room he pulls his hair up into a bun. He turns on his computer and glances at the clock. It’s nearly one in the morning. He slept five hours. It’s close enough to a full night of rest for a normal person that he feels just a little proud of himself. Skype comes up automatically and he sees his mom is on. He calls her.

It takes a second before she answers but then her face appears smiling on his screen. “Hi, mom.”

“Hi, baby.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

She giggles. “You never did like it after Ella. I know you won’t say it but I think, maybe, you had a crush on her.”

Armin swallows down the sick he feels because it’s not his mom’s fault she doesn’t know. It’s his. All of it is his fault. “I don’t think so. How’s dad?”

“Oh!” Her face lights up. “He’s just great. He’s working a little more lately, but it’s okay.”

“And how are you?”

“The wives out here have a club that meets up a few times a week. We learn Korean. I’m not very good, yet, but I can go the local grocery store by myself now and manage okay.” She laughs. “How are things for you? Isn’t it late there.”

“It’s one in the morning, so it’s not super late.”

“Armin!” She chides him and he can’t help but snort. “I know you don’t have to  _ go  _ to school but there’s no reason for you to be up so late!”

“Sorry, mom. I’ll go to bed when we’re done talking.”

“You’re right, you will. Now, how are you, hun?”

Armin shrugs, “I’m okay.”

“Have you made any friends?”

He can hear the worry in her voice. “Yeah, actually.”

“Oh!” She bounces in her seat. “Tell me about them.”

“His name’s Jean. He’s half hispanic, but I don’t think he speaks a lot of Spanish. He got his GED equivalent so he doesn’t go to school. Like me.” He leaves out the part where neither of them sleep.

“That’s great, hun. How’s your grandfather?”

“Same as always. Just a little crazy and a lot of great.”

“Well, listen,” his mother commands his attention. “Your father is getting leave at the end of the month.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s going to be two weeks. We want to come visit. Maybe do a road trip.”

“A road trip where?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe to some of the old bases.”

Despite the fact he has no desire to go to any of those places, minus New Orleans, he nods. “Sounds great mom.”

“Okay, sweetheart. I’m going to let you go. Get some sleep. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Good night, mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, Armin.”

The call ends and he signs out of skype to appease his mother. He stands and goes to his bed. He finds his phone under his pillow and looks over his social media. One of the trucks from his list just tweeted ten minutes ago: “setting up shop @ Trop and Maryland come find us! #solidbusinessplan #goodeats #LVfoodtruck #midnightcaller”

Armin practically throws himself off his bed. He grabs the first pair of jeans he sees and tugs them on. He stops when he hears the gentle chiming of his phone. He searches his bed, because somehow he’s managed to lose it in the moments between reading the tweet and pulling on his pants. He looks at the screen and opens snapchat. It’s a video from Jean. Armin thinks back, the last thing he sent Jean was a picture of a lone Apple Jack in a bowl of milk. He always snaps Jean stupid shit and Jean always responds. He unmutes the video. 

“Da fuck is this dog doing?” Jean’s voice comes through. On the screen RC is running in circles in Jean’s backyard. The video ends. A smile pulls at his face. He should have told his mom about Rosencrantz.

He calls Jean as he looks for a shirt. Jean answers on the fourth ring. “Hello?” He sounds surprised that Armin called him. 

“Hey there,” Armin can’t stop himself from sounding breathy and hopeful. “Um, I’m going somewhere. You want to come?”

“Uh,” he hears Jean shift on the other end of the phone. “Yeah. I can meet you where you were parked last time.”

“Perfect.” Armin tugs on a white shirt with faded image of  _ God Save the Queen  _ and a teal hoodie. “I’ll be there in five.”

“Okay, bye.”

They hang up and Armin grabs his shoes as he sneaks out the front door. His window is just frosted over when he gets in his car. He cranks the heater and pulls on his shoes. As an afterthought he sprays himself lightly with cologne. He feels dumb about it and tosses the bottle to the back. When he pulls up Jean is leaning against the railing that borders the sidewalk. Armin watches him stand as he unlocks the door. 

“Hey,” Jean says. He sounds breathless but maybe that’s nervousness. 

“Hey,” Armin’s sure he sounds pretty similar.

“Where are we going?”

Armin drives and he let’s Jean plug in his phone. They’re going through a playlist when a song he recognizes comes on. “Oh, you like these guys?”

Jean smirks, “I really only know this one song.”

“Oh.” Armin’s only slightly disappointed. Now he just knows what to play in his car next time he gets to control the music. “They’re one of my favorite bands.”

Jean mouths the words and Armin watches from the corner of his eye.  _ Before you know it, I’m lost at sea/and now that I write and think about it/and the story unfolds/you should take my life, you should take my soul. _

They drive and the song plays on. Armin swallows, “This is my favorite part.”

“ _ You think twice about your life, it probably happens at night right?/fight it, take the pain ignite it/tie a noose around your mind, loose enough to breathe fine and tie it/to a tree, tell it, ‘you belong to me/this ain’t a noose this is a leash,/and I have news for you, you must obey me.’” _

Jean is looking at him, Armin can feel it and he wonders if he’s said too much without saying anything. “Yeah, me too.”

“Okay, they should be around here,” Armin slows down to look. 

“There,” Jean points to the parking lot of a mechanic. Stacks of tires line the building, which is painted a garish yellow and blue.

Armin makes a hard right into the parking lot and pulls up beside the food truck. “Finally.”Armin shuts off his car, unbuckles his seatbelt then reaches across Jean to the glove box for his wallet. “I’ve been looking for this truck for weeks. It’s always gone by the time I get there.” When he looks back up Jean’s face is red. He’s so obvious. They are both so obvious. “Sorry,” he mumbles. 

They get out and approach the truck. A large polynesian man pokes his head out the window. He has a thin mustache and round face. “Just call up when you’re ready.”

Jean nudges Armin. “What are you getting?”

Armin looks over the menu quickly and settles on spicy beef teriyaki over rice. He turns to Jean. He’s so close their noses nearly touch. He loses his train of thought and stutters over his empty mouth, “Um, the spicy beef and rice. You?”

“I think I’m going to try the chop suey.”Jean’s looking at him openly. Armin can feel his gaze trace the lines of his face and neck. “You know, you smell good. I thought it was just your car.” Jean turns back to the truck and steps forward. “Chop suey, please.”

His chest burns from flattery. “And the spicy beef teriyaki,” Armin calls after Jean.

“Pay at the window!”

There’s a young hawaiian woman there. “Did you want any drinks?”

“Orange soda,” Armin replies.

“Uh, root beer.” 

She grabs two bottles from the cooler and passes them through the window. Smiling, she continues, “For everything, that’s twenty-two, seventy-three.”

“Oh, were not -” Armin starts. 

“It’s fine.” Jean hands her a twenty and a ten. 

“You really didn’t have to,” Armin sighs as the lady makes change. 

Jean just shrugs. “Maybe, but you did pay at the Stratosphere, so -” He let’s that linger.

Armin throws his hands in the air, “Fine. But I’m tipping.”

“Well, it’s not a city in China.”

“Order up!”

Armin grabs their boxes. “Let’s go eat somewhere else.”

“But I’m hungry now.”

“You can eat while I drive.”

“Deal.”

They get back in the car and Armin commanders the aux cable. “My turn,” he says and brings up his music library. Despite earlier thoughts he brings up another band. The girls voice sounds alien, but the music is sweet if not, also, unsettling. 

He drives them back towards their side of town. They’re about a third of the way home when Armin turns onto a desolate back street in a small business center. He makes a left on an isolated street that takes them away from the businesses towards a school. The school sits on a plateau and Armin takes the road around back of the school and backs up to the edge of the cliff.

He leaves his car on, pops the hatchback, and gets out. Jean follows him and helps put the back seats down by setting the books on the ground. The both of them climb into the back so they’re facing The Strip. Armin’s been in Vegas long enough to have an opinion of it. It looks beautiful from far away and feels unnecessary when there, if not exciting.

He reaches into the front seat and grabs his food. Armin kicks his shoes off and crosses his legs. “How’s your food?” 

“It’s really good.” Jean’s almost done with his food and fighting off the voice that reminds him how much Eren loved chop suey. “Yours?” He turns in time to see Armin struggle with a long piece of beef. It flops lamely against his chin and Armin smiles. He sucks it into his mouth, the teriyaki sauce collecting on his delicate pink lips.

Things feel like they are falling into place when he’s with Armin. He’d realized it when Armin had taken his hand on the Stratosphere. Armin keeps him in the moment and focused on himself. He doesn’t feel the universe threatening to pluck him from the earth and toss him into the depths of the cosmos where the burning heat inside him will freeze, yet still manage to kill him. No. With Armin he feels like himself. The self he was before - well, just, before. But, it’s just a feeling, it’s not a state of being. He still doesn’t like to leave his bed, and he still can’t go up the stairs, and he still can’t bring himself to believe it’s not his fault. He can fake it when Armin’s there, though.

“I lied to you.”

Armin stops mid-chew and swallows.

“I have friends. I mean - I use to have friends.”

Armin sets his food in his lap. He doesn’t say anything because confessions hardly ever need prompting once they’ve started.

“My best friend, his name is Connie. We’re, uh, we’re not friends anymore. We use to run track together. He did sprints. I did distance. We use to go running every night. Me, him, and -” Jean swallow. “Me and him. He has a girlfriend named Sasha. She’s like three inches taller than him but they’re still together. It’s kind of gross. They make out all the time. We’ll the last time I saw them they were still like that. Sash is great. She loves everybody and wants them to be happy. Connie, he’s a freak, but he was my freak. I miss them.”

“Why don’t you talk to them?”

Jean sighs. “Because I’m a lost cause Armin. You don’t even know.”

Armin sets his hand on Jean’s knee. “Jean, you are a lot of things, but you are not a lost cause.

Jean smirks, “Okay then, what am I?”

Armin snorts. “You’re a butt for one.”

“Oh, really? Am I a nice butt?”

Armin dramatically glances down to the general vicinity of Jean’s ass. “Eh.”

Jean shoves him playfully.

“Really, though, you’re kind. Smart. Athletic. You’re a huge dork,” Armin laughs because now he’s on his own tangent. He looks away, sort of down to his lap and sort of down to the carpet. “And when you get nervous it’s so obvious. I feel bad for you, honest. And you love your family, I can tell. You’re sincere. You’re just - you’re just really great.”

It’s not forced, just sudden. Jean comes from nowhere and takes Armin back to the real world by the lips. Armin gasps and then presses back gently against Jean. His eyes slip closed and Jean’s fingers scratch at the back of his head. Armin’s hand is still on Jean’s knee and he squeezes just to confirm that Jean is real and solid. Jean’s long, dark lashes flutter against his cheek and then Jean’s pulling away. 

Armin opens his eyes first, just in time to see the way Jean looks flushed and his chest rises and falls like he’s just run a long distance marathon. He takes Jean’s hand from his hair and Jean’s eyes snap open like he’s expecting the worst. 

“Don’t move,” Armin says, trying to keep his voice steady. He’d wanted to kiss Jean. He hadn’t known it until he was doing it, or maybe he had and just hadn’t gotten as far as acting on it. Regardless, he wants the next action to be his. He needs that, he needs to know he can control the situation. Armin sets Jean’s palm over his chest and holds it there by the wrist.

He looks up and sees Jean swallow, “Armin, I -”

“Shh,” Armin hushes him. 

Jean can feel the erratic rhythm of Armin’s heart pulsing against his fingertips. The heat of Armin’s body soaks into his palm, up his arm, and unfreezes something  _ normal  _ in him. He wants to grab it, love it, and let it kill him. 

Armin brings Jean’s wrist to his lips and his heart stutters at the small whining sound Jean makes. He kisses, with his lips pursed just enough to be moist, at the soft skin. He closes his eyes and lets the moment linger. Armin lets out his breath over and wet spot and the hair of Jean’s arm stands up. Slowly, he manipulates Jean’s palm so it cups his cheek. He rubs his face against Jean’s palm, feels the way his long fingers splay out across his cheek, over his jaw, and along his neck.

Armin releases Jean’s hand by simply letting his own drop into his lap. Jean isn’t sure what that moment had meant but he would listen to it with every beat of his heart. He does, however, know what Armin giving him his hand back means. Jean pushes his hand into Armin’s hair and leans forward. Armin meets him halfway with his gentle, malleable lips. He allows his thumb to pass back and forth over the soft curve of Armin’s cheekbone and it ignites something in him, clears away the cobwebs of his mind.

Jean presses his mouth against Armin’s harder. He acts without consulting himself. His tongue travels across the seam of Armin’s closed mouth. Armin doesn’t gasp and he doesn’t relent, he  _ allows _ Jean access and he knows to be thankful. That’s what the moment had meant. It was to tell Jean that Armin was in control of his body and that Jean was to understand that Armin could take away just as easily as he could give.

He licks into Armin’s mouth, the wet heat of Armin’s own tongue meeting his. And then they are all teeth and gentle moans. He doesn’t care, just appreciates the way it feels when Armin breathes into his mouth. Jean doesn’t press, he takes his cues from Armin who tilts his head and leans forward to put in as much effort as Jean is. 

Armin’s the one that stops them, when the playlist that’s been playing ends and he can just make out the first rays of sun on the horizon. He puts his hand to Jean’s chest and pushes slowly. He’s winded when he speaks. “We should get home. Before any of our adults get up.”

“Yeah,” Jean agrees looking out at the mountains that make the valley. He pushes forward and Armin lets him. Jean puts a soft kiss on the corner of Armin’s mouth. “Do you think this is a thing we can do, you know, again?”

“The food part or the kissing part?”

“The kissing.”

Armin doesn’t say anything. “Maybe. We’ll see how I feel next time.”

“Okay.”

Armin scoots out of the back and Jean follows. They’re home before the sun actually lights up the sky.

 

* * *

 

_ lira cried when she held eren. he was so much more beautiful than a mother could have ever hoped. he’d been born with a grumpy face but he didn’t cry unless he was hungry, really. jean had been born with the face of an angel but the mouth of fire alarm. such opposites. and lord eren had his father’s eyes. those gorgeous blue-gold irises that had convinced her so many times to trust in them and their future. it only took one look at eren to settle all her doubts about their future.  _

_ jean sat beside his mother as she spoke. “this is _ tu hermano, hijo _. we made him for you. one day, when we’re gone, you will have each other. in life all you really have is your family.” _

_ she knew he was just barely a year old and couldn’t understand her but she spoke anyway.  _

_ ‘all right. give him here.” terry put eren in the palm of his hand, he was tiny but solid. eren looked at him then closed his eyes as if he couldn’t be bothered with his father. his tenacity made terry laugh. “he’s beautiful, baby.” he leaned over the railing on the bed and kissed lira. “just like his mama.” _

_ “just like his father,” lira corrected. _

_ “this is it,” terry said with a finality, “this is our family. you, me, eren, and jean.” _

_ jean flopped onto his back and let out a huff.  _

_ lira and terry huddled around eren. _

 

* * *

 

 

Oliver is petting his cat that just jumped up onto his desk when Armin goes for it. “I kissed him.”

Oliver looks at him with calm eyes. “You’re friend?”

“Yeah. We made out in my car.” He doesn’t say anything, but his cat leaves and Armin feels a little slighted by it. “Sorry. I just-” he sighs, “I just thought you should know.”

“How’d you think I’d react?”

Armin shrugs. “I don’t know. I thought you’d be mad. Or maybe you wouldn’t want to talk. But you’re the only friend I have Oliver. I don’t want that.”

“I’m not mad, Armin. Jeez. I’m happy for you even.”

Oliver pulls at the tight curls on his head. “I have a date.”

Armin’s interest piques and he sits up with a smile. “Oh, really? What’s his name?”

“Marlene.”

“Oh. I thought you planned on telling your parents. Aren’t you tired of being in the closet?”

Oliver shrugs. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m  _ not  _ in the closet. My parents are just too distracted to see I ever came out of it.”

He doesn’t believe him, Armin can tell. 

“Why don’t you come out?”

Oliver sighs. “I was going to. Honest. Then my mama tells me she set me up on a date with one of the girls from bible study and the southerner in me can’t stand a lady up. Even if I didn't agree in the first place.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Go on the date. Show her a good time. Politely decline a second date. Tell my parents.”

“It’s so simple it’s dumb,” Armin laughs. 

“Well what about you? What are you going to do?”

“About my parents or about Jean?”

“Both.”

“Well, I guess try to make it more obvious when I see my parents.”

“And Jean?”

Armin shrugs. “It was great. That’s it. It was great. He was great.” He pauses. “He asked to hold my hand on the way back.”

“Did you let him?”

He shakes his head. “No. I felt squeamish after kissing for so long.” It stirs in the pit of Armin’s stomach, but he has to ask because he needs to know. “Do you know?”

Oliver catches his eyes and holds them steady. “You’ve never told me, but I can guess.”

“Is it obvious?”

“Armin, is this really a conversation you want to have?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.” Oliver sits up straight.  “I don’t know the details of whatever happened to you, but something did. If you ever want to tell me I’ll listen, but I’m not going to pull it out of you. So, no, I don’t think it’s obvious. I think I only know because we did more than talk when you lived here.”

Armin nods. “So, um,” his heart feels like it’s dying. “He’ll probably know, eventually.”

“Maybe. But, don’t think about that. Just be happy, you deserve it.”

“So do you,” his response is automatic but he’s thinking about how if him and Jean continue he’s going to know how dirty he is.

 

* * *

 

_ this would be jean’s first memory: _

_ he was five years old. he ran into the house crying. he’d been outside playing, because he was a big boy at the time and was allowed to play outside. he’d been dared to touch a cactus. the older kids had told him he wouldn’t get hurt if he touched it carefully. he’d laid his palm across the needles then pulled away quickly. jean screamed and the older kids ran away to avoid getting in trouble.  _

_ jean ran back to his house as quickly as possible. his hand was swelling.  _

_ “mama! mama!” jean cried as he came through the door.  _

_ eren was sitting at the table coloring with terry. he wasn’t allowed to play outside without supervision, yet. _

_ terry got up and ran to jean, “oh fuck! jean what did you do?!” _

_ he carried jean into the kitchen and set him on the counter as he rummaged through the cabinets for the first aid kit. _

_ jean sobbed and eren came over to put a hand on his knee. _

_ ‘“jean, are you okay?” _

_ all he could do was sniffle and wipe at his running nose. _

_ “you see this eren? this is why you don’t touch cactus. don’t make the same mistake as your brother.” _

_ jean would remember it as: don’t be like your brother. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from the same song Jean and Armin are listening to in the car when they drive to get food. [Holding On To You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktBMxkLUIwY) by Twenty One Pilots.
> 
> I will literally write you a whole fic of at least a thousand words on a topic/plot of your choosing if you can guess the other band only decribed as follows: "Armin plugs his phone in and a whiny high-pitched man starts coming through the speakers accompanied by instrumentals that strangely reminds Jean of a carnival." and "The strange metal carnival continues all the way there." 
> 
> Hints: I saw them at the House of Blues in 2007 when they were touring their album named after a shaky guys overstudied poetry  
> They are probably better described as hardcore   
> The singer does the same thing everyday   
> And wouldn't last very long in a stream
> 
> Good luck! Try some creative googling.


	6. Giving Up Slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I fought You for so long_   
>  _I should have let You in_   
>  _Oh how we regret those things we do_   
>  _And all I was trying to do was save my own skin_   
>  _But so were You_
> 
> It's starting to unravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Long time no post.  
> I'm very, very sorry.  
> Surprisingly enough somebody actually DID guess the band from the last chapter's challenge and I'll be writing them a nice little fic. It was Chiodos. Specifically their [Interlude Pt. 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-zfODSdlcH0). But another song by them Armin probably likes is [We're Going To Have Ourselves A Champagne Jam.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XGE5YwrwoaI) If your idea of hard music is Rise Against you probs don't want to listen to the second one.
> 
> This chapter is very..... full. Lotsa ground to cover.
> 
> Also I wanted to drop this again since we are half way through the fic. I do NOT tag things that spoil my work. Please be a responsible reader and leave my piece should anything make you uncomfortable. Thank you, lovlies!~~

It’s mid afternoon on the following saturday when Jean turns on his xbox. Armin’s sleeping, or so he assumes since he hasn’t received a snap or text in two hours. He thinks that the good thing about being friends with somebody who has the same affliction is they both understand that silence doesn’t mean  _ ignoring _ it probably means sleeping. Jean himself is working off of six hours, it’s been twenty three since he last slept.

Marco’s online, so he finds out when he gets a party invite.

“Hey man.” Marco’s voice is cheerful but concentrated.

“‘Sup,” Jean replies, “What you playing?”

“Eh,” Marco brushes the question off. “Let me finish this round then we’ll switch over to the regular.”

Jean waits in the lobby until Marco’s ready. “Sorry, let’s game.”

“So, home on a saturday?” Jean yawns. “Boring.”

He hears Marco snort. “Home for now. The bae is picking me up in an bit.”

“The  _ bae _ . Really Marco?”

“I thought you’d like that,” he laughs. “What about you?”

“Armin’s sleeping.”

“So? It’s not like he’s your only friend.”

“Yeah. My other friend is going out with their  _ boo thang.” _

Marco laughs at him, “Really, Jean?”

“Yeah. I thought you’d like that.”

They game. Marco beats the shit out of Jean at one point, but it’s okay because Jean wastes him later.

“So,” Marco draws it out like the last good hit of a blunt. “How are things with Armin?”

Jean licks his lips. Mulls over what he wants to say. He doesn’t want to say anything. He wants to be stuck, he wants to be seventeen, and miserable. He deserves that much for what he’s done. But, he also wants to say everything. He wants to tell Marco about how Armin’s skin is smooth except across his cheeks where there’s little acne bumps. About how Armin tasted like teriyaki and orange soda. Fucking, about how when he’s with Armin he feels like a goddamn human being and not this viscous liquid being poorly held inside a container of awkward limbs and sexuality. Instead he says, “We kissed.”

Marco’s silent a moment and Jean uses his shock to waste Marco, again. “Like, dude, how much?”

“Tongue.”

“Tongue?” Marco sounds scandalized. “So, now, you’re like practically pregnant.”

Jean snorts. “Fuck you man.”

“So, like, what? Are you guys dating?”

“I think we’re just hanging out. I haven’t seen him since.”

Marco breathes in through his teeth. “Oh.”

“No, no, no. Not ‘oh.’ We still talk literally everyday. We weren’t meeting up everyday before anyway, so it’d be weird if we did just because of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, like, it would give it expectations. I don’t think Armin wants that.”

They’ve stopped playing now. “What makes you say that?”

“Like, geez I’m going to sound so gay -”

“Like that’s hard buddy.”

Jean laughs, “Fuck you kindly. But, anyway, I kissed him. I was scared as shit but I did. And, like, he kissed me back. But, then he stopped and I thought ‘oh shit oh shit oh shit I fucked up.’ But, no, he puts my hand on his chest, tells me not to move, and then were not kissing were, like, having a moment.”

“Sounds intimate?”

“Dude, yes, it was. That’s the only way to put it.  _ Then  _ we made out. For, seriously, like, an hour. My lips were hella raw the next morning.”

“Ew. I forgot you’re from the west coast.”

They laugh. Jean continues, “But it was just kissing, and it was great. He was great. Then we go to drive home and I asked to hold his hand and he said no. Like, he drew a line in the sand except it’s dark and I don’t know where that line is?”

“So, you think he doesn’t have expectations moving forward.”

“No, because whatever we’re doing it’s on his terms.”

“Well, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have expectations?”

Jean licks his lips. “I do if he wants me to.”

Marco laughs. “Dude, you’re whipped.” Jean’s still trying to think of a response when Marco speaks, “Reiner just got here. I’m going to go. We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah, later.” Jean agrees, then Marco’s gone, leaving Jean to contemplate what it means. What any of it means. He wonders if Eren was whipped. He loved Mikasa and that’s different, it has to be, because he doesn’t deserve love after taking it away from Mikke. From Eren. From everybody he’s ever cared about.

Yet, he still thinks of Armin. He turns off his console and crawls into his bed. Boredom settles over him like a thick blanket he can’t find the edges of. He tugs himself through his drawstring shorts and thinks back on once being told that boredom is a boy’s best friend. 

He thinks of Armin’s hot mouth and less about moral ambiguity because he’s fairly certain Armin likes him, too. His strokes are slow and passing, he wonders how Armin does it. How he gets himself off. Jean imagines his freckled shoulders pushing into the mattress, arching his back as he cums in thick ropes across his stomach. He wonders if Armin works himself open with those same fingers that smartly turn the stiff pages of his books. He imagines Armin with his face against his bedsheets, mouth open and breathing a moist spot into the fabric. Armin’s ass squirming in the air as he finger fucks himself to completion.

Jean gets off thinking about Armin getting off.

 

* * *

 

_ ella cried into armin’s shoulder. her sobbing shook his small frame. his arms were relaxed at his sides. one hand held the bow he was just playing with and the other held his cello in place. ella always told him he played beautifully, today she had just come over and held him. made him squirm in his seat, nervous. _

_ “this is the last time, baby.” she sniffed. “you leave tomorrow. they’re taking you from me.” _

_ he doesn’t want her to cry, she’s taught him so much. “but you gave me music. we’ll always have that.” _

_ ella sat back on her heels. “baby,” she cooed and brushed his hair back with adult fingers. “baby, tell me you love me.” _

_ armin swallowed because he didn’t know what that meant, so he hadn’t wanted to but the hand on his thigh rubbed softly over his baby fat. “i -” he sobbed without knowing why, “i love you.” _

_ she brought her face closer and kissed him. she’d never done that before and armin stopped breathing like he suddenly wasn’t alive but a doll, just for her. _

_ she breathed out against his lips and armin didn’t know it then but later he’d know this was the moment she’d taken everything from him. _

 

* * *

 

Jean’s laying on his back looking at his ceiling. He’s never been afraid to leave his room. He’s had a good childhood. His parents didn’t fight too openly about their adult happenings. So, this is new.

His parents are fighting at the end of the hall. They think he’s sleeping, or they’ve stopped caring about that. Stopped caring about if they can be heard. 

All parents fight, his were always just private about it.

He supposes that fighting is at least different from silence. He thinks he’d prefer having to listen to them over the deafening silence that’s been in their house since - well since.

“Everyday Terry? _ ¡Todos los dias!  _ You have a family!”

“Yeah, well what about you Lira? Like you’re so goddamn perfect. You haven’t even made dinner in a month, so what do you care about what time I’m coming home?”

Silence, like funerals. Even the crying is silent at funerals. “Is that all I am good for?”

He hears his mother start stomping down the hall. The louder footsteps pursuing her are his fathers. “Lira, that’s not what I meant.” His father sounds like his old self, strangely. His voice is soft and regretful. It’s more than he’s heard from his father in months.

Jean sits up, finds his pants on his floor and tugs them on.

“What’s the point anymore Terry! All you do is fight with Jean at dinner! I’m exhausted just thinking about it!”

“Oh, so now we get to the root of the issue!” Jean imagines his father red in the face. “We wouldn’t fight if he hadn’t become so disrespectful.” It feels like he’s been punched. His father, up until that moment, had never  _ actually _ said something about Jean. Hearing it hurts more than he ever thought it would.

His phone buzzes and he looks. It’s from Armin. He pockets his phone and starts looking for shoes

“Please, Terry, we both know this is about Er-”

Jean stops looking in the dark. He’s looks to the light that comes in from under his door. His parents shadows don’t move.  _ Say it, Mom. _

His mother sobs. He can feel the tension through his door. “ _ Duerma en la sofá.” _

Jean stuffs his feet into his shoes. The door to his parents room closes and locks. He opens his door. His dad is standing in the hall looking at the door to their bedroom. He turns to look at Jean. They stare at each other a moment nothing passes between them. Not malice. Not anger. Not resentment. They’re strangers. Jean turns away and begins walking down the hall.

“Where are you going? It’s midnight,” His dad calls after him.

Jean doesn’t glance over his shoulder, just opens the door. “Out.”

He’s walking down the lawn, it’s May and the heat of the day lingers just barely in the cool spring night. Jean doesn’t expect his dad to chase after him, so he doesn’t understand his disappointment when the front door doesn’t open behind him. He can hear RC howling in the backyard as he steps out onto the sidewalk to check his phone. Jean wonders what Armin would think of his family if he knew just how fucked up it all was, he puts his phone away without checking it.

He rounds the corner to the park. His eyes immediately search for Armin. They hadn’t planned to meet up or anything, he supposes it’s just habit now. Disappointed he’s not there he decides to actually check his phone. It’s a snap. He holds the screen. It’s a picture of the park from a high vantage point and Jean whips around looking for Armin. Immediately he gets another snap, this time Jean can see plastic bordering the frame of the video and then him, spinning around, looking for Armin. Jean looks up to the slide, it’s the kind that has the dome that borders the mouth. Armin’s face is pressed up to one of the slots that allows parents to look in. He smiles when Jean sees him. 

Jean bounds up the playground to the dome. Armin scooches over so his thigh is pressed to the mouth of the slide and his knees are in his chest.

“I don’t know if I can fit.”

Armin grins, “You can try.”

Jean squats, braces his back to the wall of the dome and tries to casually slide his ass into the slot between Armin’s feet and the wall. He loses his balance and falls on his tailbone. “Ow.”

Armin snorts, “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He adjusts himself to be as comfortable as possible, which isn’t saying much. “Um, I finished the last book you gave me, but I didn’t grab it. I’ll give it back to you next time.”

Looking at Jean Armin knows something is wrong. It’s in the set of Jean’s jaw, tight and sorrowful. “It’s fine.” He closes the book he’s reading,  _ The Curious Case of the Dog in the Night-Time.  _ It’s a favorite of his. He passes it to Jean, “Read this next.”

“Oh, thanks.” Jean sets the book beside himself.

Armin studies him, it’s hard to see with hardly any light so he squints. “Are you really okay?”

Jean’s eyes look down like he’s avoiding the question. His hand sits between their legs. Armin takes a breath to access how he’s feeling. He feels a little gross. He feels a lot broken. He doesn’t feel as used up as usual and he doesn’t feel soiled. He’s afraid of dirtying Jean, but hands - hands should be okay today. He reaches out, his heel of his hand against the floor, and threads his fingers through Jean’s.

He looks up at him with emblazoned hazel eyes. Armin watches the knob of Jean’s neck bob as he swallows. “I thought you didn’t like holding hands.”

Armin feels his eyes go wide. “No. It’s not that. Just -” He pauses. “Just sometimes I want to do certain things and other times I don’t.” His tongue pokes out and traces the peaks of his upper lip. “Like today, today would not be a good day for kissing. I don’t want to do that today.”

Jean’s looking at him. His eyes are steady, calculating, kind, just a little worried. “Okay.” He squeezes Armin’s hand and runs his thumb over Armin’s. 

Armin throws an arm over his knees and rests his head there. His voice is small, “I play cello.”

Jean cocks his head. “You do?”

Armin’s afraid to look up, as if Jean can suddenly see everything. As if he knows what happened. He nods, “Yeah.” He still plays the cello. He loves the cello. It’s the only thing he’s good at. The cello  _ is an extension of his body.  _ The shame that spikes through his body is immense and he takes his hand back. “Never mind I don’t want to talk about it.”

He wants to slap himself. He’s not even sure why he brought it up. It just came out.

Jean looks worried again.

Armin pulls himself together. “Hey, want to go for tacos?”

He snorts, “Where are we going to get tacos?”

Armin drives, Jean DJs. Jean picks the band Armin had mentioned liking.  He watches Armin’s jaw set in surprise. “I thought you said you didn’t listen to them.”

Jean feels the heat in his face. In all actuality, Armin probably understands that Jean likes him, but something small like this is still embarrassing. “I don’t know. I’ve been listening to them lately. I like them.”

Armin’s smile is small and charmed.

They pull up to a small building that’s essentially in the middle of a parking lot. It’s rundown, which is to be expected because they are north of Russell Road which aptly divides the valley between the affluent and the not. The paint is flaking and it has a sign too big for the building that reads, ‘Tizon Tacos.’ It doesn’t have a sitting area it’s so small, it only has an order window or the drive thru. 

They pull into the drive-thru and Jean looks contemplatively at the glaring menu. The plastic has been stained yellow by the sun and the type is in varying stages of legible. “We are literally going to get sick if we eat here ‘Min.”

Armin looks over to him, “What did you call me?”

“Uh,” Jean replies dumbly as a smile snakes over Armin’s face like he’s embarrassed for Jean. “‘Min, like Armin, but just, like, ‘Min.”

Armin’s mouth forms a circle, “Oh, well now that you’ve so effectively articulated it -”

Jean deflates, “Fine, I won’t.”

Armin can feel his face fall. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed it when Jean’s so off. 

“Welcome to Tizon,” the disembodied voice from the intercom is thick with a Spanish accent. “What you like?”

He looks back to the menu, “I’ll have the chicken taco plate, extra guac. What do you want Jean?”

Jean shrugs and looks back over to the menu, he picks the first thing he sees. “Pepe’s Burrito, lengua not carne.”

They pull forward and Armin shifts into park. He sighs, “You can call me ‘Min.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to make you.”

“You’re not making me. I just, I never had a nickname. I thought the idea was kind of entertaining because it was new. I shouldn’t have made you feel bad about it.”

“You never had a nickname?” Jean looks over, genuinely surprised. “Like, your friends never gave you one?”

Armin swallows. “I never really had a lot of friends and the friends I did have, I guess I wasn’t around long enough.”

“You can give me one.” Jean sits back up.

The cashier opens the window, “Ten, eight-six.”

Armin gives her money. “I don’t think I’d be very good at coming up with one.”

“It’s just something you feel. Like one day you’re sitting around and somebody snorts out grape soda and that’s it, they’re Grape.”

“So I should call you Cock.” Jean face perks up in surprise, “On account of your cocky personality.”

They laugh, “I was thinking something like Handsome, or something powerful like Stallion. Handsome Stallion, if you would.”

The cashier comes back with change and pushes their food out the window. Armin pulls around front and parks. “Well, ‘Min sounds awfully boring compared to Handsome Stallion.”

“Well, what do you want to be called?”

“Uh,” Armin thinks dramatically. “Your Royal Highness, Commander of the Night.”

Jean pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Armin leans over while simultaneously trying to fish out his food. 

“Nothing, Your Royal Highness, Commander of the Night.” He flashes Armin his phone screen, a smile creeping up his face

Armin reads the words on the screen, notices it’s now the name that goes with his phone number. “Wait, no, you didn’t have to.” Jean just grins. “You dork.”

“Now do me.”

He stops short and looks at Jean with his eyebrows raised, “You want me to change your name in my phone to ‘Handsome Stallion?’”

“Yep,” Jean grabs his food. 

Armin rolls his eyes and sinks into his chair. He pops the top to his to-go container and grabs one of the tacos. “My parents are coming to visit me.”

Jean’s mid-bite and speaks around his burrito, “Really?”

“Yeah, end of the month. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully?”

Armin shrugs, “I don’t know. My dad is always about to have leave, then something happens and, well, that’s that.”

“Shouldn’t leave be something that’s, like, guaranteed.”

“You’d think. My dad’s very committed.”

There’s a pause, Armin finishes one of his tacos, mouth closing around his fingers and coming out with a wet sheen. 

Armin catches Jean staring, but he doesn’t look away. “What did you get again?”

“Chicken tacos, extra guac.” 

Jean opens his mouth, “Ah.”

For a moment Armin does nothing, just feels his stomach flip. Then he picks up on of his other tacos and puts half of it in Jean’s mouth. 

Jean makes and appreciative noise and leans back in the passenger chair. “S’ good.”

“What did you get?”

Jean glances over and extends his burrito to Armin who takes a tentative bite. Some of the rice drops away between the console and Armin covers his mouth to catch anything else that might try to escape. He chews through the dense, elastic meat and swallows. “What kind of meat is that?”

Jean shrugs, “Lengua de vaca.”

“And that is?”

“Cow tongue.”

Armin grimaces. It’d tastes good but he has some reservations about eating an animal’s tongue. Jean’s trying not to laugh at him and Armin feels his face dissolve into a grin.

“So,” Jean tries, “What are your parents like?”

Armin watches him take a bite right from the same place he had. “My mom’s a home maker. The type that always made cookies when I felt bad and watched tv with me even though she didn’t enjoy the shows. Dad, he, well, I don’t know. I mean, I love him and nothing is really strained, he just wasn’t around all the time. He was always so busy with work.” Armin smiles. “When he wasn’t busy though he use to take me go kart racing.”

Unable to stop himself he opens his mouth, “Do you think your parents still love each other?”

Armin looks up with a curious gaze. Slowly, he takes a bite out of another taco. “When I was twelve we had to do fake interviews. We had to make a newspaper of our family. We had to have a headliner, and two sub stories. I interviewed my mom, I asked her what the most life changing event in her life had been. 

“She told me a story about going to buy a puppy for her eighth birthday. My grandpa took her, the one I live with, to a breeder who lived out on a farm. When they took her to the puppy barn they opened the door and a horde of golden retriever puppies came out, knocking her over. After them came a boy, her age. 

“Then one of the puppies came back over and licked her elbow which she scraped on the ground, then her face. The boy came over and picked the puppy up. He took her hand and helped her up saying, ‘I think you should get this one. He’s the only one who cared if you were okay.’ She dusted herself off and said back, ‘You cared, too.’ That was my dad. My mom said she didn’t love him then, but only because she didn’t know what love was until she found him.”

Jean’s burrito is going cold. His finger plays with the aluminium, “That sounds like something out of a romance novel.”

Armin snorts, “Yeah. I know. They’re gross.” He stuffs the whole of his last taco in his mouth then picks up a few stray pieces of chicken that fell out and eats those too. Curious, he continues, “Something wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs, playing dumb. “You’ve kind of been a little down today. Then the question.”

Jean stares and then Armin catches his gaze. The air goes stale between them. He begs his face to emote anything as it remains impassive. Jean looks away to save himself. “Everything’s fine. Just tired.”

He can’t make Jean say anything. “Okay,” he doesn’t push. He wouldn’t want Jean to, so he returns the favor.

Jean balls up the leftover foil of his burrito and puts the window down. “Think I can make it?” He looks at Armin from the corner of his eye. He lines up the shot with the trashcan outside the little taco hut. 

“What are the stakes?”

Jean purses his lips. “If I make it, one day, you have to play something for me.”

“And if you miss?”

“That’s up to you.”

Armin rests his head on the back of his seat. “If you miss, you’ll owe me.”

“Owe you what?”

Armin shrugs. “I haven’t decided. There’s nothing I want from you right now.”

Jean nods, thinking it over. “Sounds like a bet.” His arm comes back and then springs forward, the ball of foil slides out of his hand. It hits the rims and falls to the ground. 

Armin winces, “Better luck next time.”

“I know you said you don’t want to talk about playing, but maybe later. Or something?”

Jean holds his gaze. Armin’s mouth goes dry, “Maybe.”

Jean smiles to himself as he puts his seatbelt back on. “Can I hold your hand while you drive?”

Armin nods before he speaks.

 

* * *

 

_ eren leaned against the doorway to his brother’s room. jean was lounging in banana gaming chair in a pair of those male model underwear. he never had understood the appeal of ten dollar a pair underwear. maybe it has something to do with him being gay, kinda gay. jean thinks he doesn’t know, but he totally does. _

_ “andre invited us to a party this weekend.” _

_ jean glanced over at him then looked back to the screen. “andre? like the quarterback andre?” _

_ “yeah. wanna go?” eren pulls his arm over his head to stretch. practice had really done a number on him. eren played football in the fall and did track in the spring. jean did cross country in the fall and track in the spring. they would have to start running together again soon. _

_ jean pulled off his headset. “yeah. that’d be cool. i’ll drive, yeah?” _

_ eren smiled to himself. jean had been solemn, lately. at least he thought that was the right word. he’d ask mikke later to make sure. this party would really cheer him up. he wasn’t even sure what was wrong. just, jean wasn’t himself. maybe it was the stress of college or jean’s own stupid mind putting him down. _

_ “cool.” eren stepped away from the door. rc padded behind him as he made his way back to his room. _

 

* * *

 

Jean rolls over and sneezes. He opens his eyes and Rosencrantz is panting in his face. “Out. Out! OUT!” Jean asserts through his sneezing. RC turns tail and trots out of his room, happy with himself. Jean throws his makeshift curtain to the side to take in the cool gray of the morning. He reaches under his pillow to check his phone, Armin sent him a snap while he was sleeping and he has a text message he’s not going to check just yet. He does however check the snap. It’s a picture of the sun coming up over The Strip from the same overlook they kissed at with an overlay that says  _ if only you hadn’t slept.  _ His groans as he cock jumps to attention. There’s no telling if Armin means to make an implication but Jean’s still delirious from sleep and  _ Armin.  _ Armin’s mouth. Armin’s tongue. Armin’s fingers, cold and clammy. Armin.

Briefly he thinks about jacking off. He even gets out of bed, leaving his phone on his bed, to close his door. RC is sitting in the hall outside his door. He’s not looking at the stairs, he’s looking down the hall towards the kitchen. Jean notices the silence. His stomach is suddenly ice and his barely there hard on falls.

Silently, he creeps down the hall. He looks left to the kitchen table. His mother sits with her back to him. It’s only now he thinks to check the time, he looks to the cable box, it reads five o’eight in the morning. The morning sun bathes her silhouette in a soft, pixelated glow. Her shoulders slump forward, her head rests on the open angle of her thumb and forefinger, her coffee lets off no heat.

Jean comes around the corner like he’s approaching a wounded animal. There’s broken glass on the floor of the kitchen. “Mom?”

Lira jumps, like she’s forgotten she’s not alone in this house. “Jean?” She wipes her face quickly and turns around with a smile. Not a real smile. The kind that looks like it will crack right off.

Jean notices the dark circles under her eyes and the shake in her hands. “Mom, you okay?”

“ _ Sí, hijo.  _ I’m fine.”

He looks pointedly at the floor. “The glass?”

“Oh.” She sounds surprised. “I dropped it.”

Jean continues to look at the pieces. “Where’s dad?”

“He left early.”

It’s not glass, it’s ceramic. It’s hand painted, red and green, with little speckles of white and blue. Jean knows what it is and drops to his knees, picking up one large shard. “This is the plate.”

“Plate?  _ Qué plato?” _

He puts his hand to the half a handprint on the piece he’s holding. “We made this for you.” Jean swallows. He sees the letters his dad had painted under the handprint, ‘Er,’ the rest is on another piece, somewhere. Tears prick his eye and he stands. Jean clutches the large, triangular piece of ceramic in his hand. He doesn’t feel it when the edge sears into his palm. His eyes ghost over the kitchen floor, so many broken pieces.

Anger runs through his blood, pulsing and hot. Tears blind him. Jean rears his arm back and throws the ceramic across the kitchen where it hits the wall above the sink and shatters. More broken pieces. 

He turns to his mom. “This can’t keep happening! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Why are you guys doing this?!”

Lira’s face crumples and Jean breathes out his anger, suddenly deflated. “Oh mom. Mom don’t cry. I’m sorry.” He kneels in front of her. “Please, don’t cry.” Jean reaches his hand up and she gasps.

“Jean!  _ Tu mano! Es  _ bleeding!”

Jean holds his arm out in front of himself. Blood runs down his arm and drips off his elbow. “Shit.”

Lira pushes back from the table, still in her night clothes. “Hospital. We have to go to the hospital.” Carefully, she grabs a kitchen rag and ties it tight around Jean’s hand. 

The blood just begins to soak through by the time she’s reversing out of the driveway. 

Lira curses in Spanish when she encounters school traffic. It resonates somewhere in Jean that his mom should be at school. The blood paints the rag and when Lira sees, it sets her off on another string of Spanish cursing. 

Her tone changes and Jean realizes she’s talking to him, “Jean, are you okay? Don’t faint.  _ Por favor, hijo. _ ”

All Jean can concentrate on is the blood, sticky and uncomfortable as it dries on his arm. Blood. Red. Blood. Eren. Eren, blood smeared across the windows. Eren, body in the drawer. Eren, no open casket. Eren, dirt piled on top of him. Eren, bloody bruised and broken. He’s going to be sick. “Mom, pull over!”

She does and Jean snaps his door open and vomits. “Don’t take me to the hospital!” Jean shouts. “Please mom!” Drawers. Sick. Death. Sterile. Death. 

“ _ Hijo,  _ I have to!”

Tears fall over his cheeks as she drives.

The hospital staff admits him immediately. They take him to emergency where the only thing separating the cots are curtains fixed to metal tracks. 

He feels nothing. Being in the hospital feels like he’s stopped being. Jean feels entirely removed from reality. His mother sits in the corner and talks quietly on her phone.  _ Terry, he’s fine. You don’t have to leave work.  _ A pause.  _ You’ll only upset him. _

The doctor asks him a series of question. Moves his digits. Decides he needs stitches. 

The fog continues through the sutures until he’s waiting to be discharged. It’s then that he sees her. She’s wearing a hospital wristband. Her black hair is longer and her stomach is just beginning to round out. “Mikke,” Jean calls without thinking. His mother has gone to the nurse’s station to grab paperwork. 

Jean stands and goes to her. “Are you okay? The baby?”

Mikasa waves him off. “The baby’s fine. I was having some stomach pain -”

“Shouldn’t you be sitting then?” Jean looks around for a seat, the fog remains, though it’s starting to thin. Something urgent tugs in his brain.

“I’m fine. It was just really terrible gas. I sent you a text?”

“Oh. I left my phone at home.” Jean holds up his hand to offer explanation. “I’m just happy the baby’s okay.” 

Mikasa looks tired. Jean figures pregnancy probably has that effect. She’s beginning to say something when the air shifts. Mikasa isn’t looking at him, but past him. Jean turns.

The fog disappears and is replaced with fear. His mom is standing still, clipboard with more paperwork in hand. Her eyes go wide and the clipboard falls from her hands and clatters to the floor. She covers her mouth and the impending sob is muffled. Lira’s mouth quivers as she walks forward. 

Mikasa looks to Jean, eyes confused, then back to Lira. She regards her with an even gaze.

Lira reaches a hand out towards Mikke’s swollen belly, looks up for reassurance that her thoughts are correct.

Mikasa nods and wipes at her eyes.

Lira gasps, a pained and breathless whimper. She falls to her knees and sobs. Her hands go to Mikasa’s stomach, gently placed on her sides. “ _ ¡Mi niño! _ ,” she cries out. “My son,” Lira chokes and sets her head against Mikasa’s belly. “ _ Mi niño _ ,” she hiccups.

Jean swallows the lump in his throat.

 

* * *

 

_ the feeling was back. it crept up on him some mornings and stayed all day. this was one of those days. he couldn’t think about his future, his parents, his perpetual struggle with coming out, that jealousy he felt sleeping the in pit of his stomach. _

_ “hey, man,” jean looks up from his desk to see andre the quarterback standing over his desk. they had pre-calc together all year but never really talked except for the semester they sat next to each other. honestly, jean was a little surprised andre thought to invite him to the party, or knew he was related to eren for that matter. _

_ “oh, hey andre.” _

_ andre smiled. “dude, thanks so much for bringing eren tonight. he said he wouldn’t be able to come without you. it’s the last party before regionals, he should really be there.” _

_ jean felt his face fall, not that it had been set in any particular way. eren, everything was about eren. he felt dumb for ever considering he wasn’t just some shadow to his younger brother.  _

_ he found eren in the hall after class. he was at his locker with some people from the football team. “hey,” jean announced himself and eren’s friends said goodbye. _

_ “what’s up?” eren closed his locker. _

_ jean licked his lips and looked past eren, “i’m not pathetic.” _

_ eren scrunched his brow and frowned which just made him look angry. the result of perpetual bitch face. “what the hell are you talking about? of course you’re not pathetic.” _

_ “whatever eren. find a different ride to andre’s party.  _

_ “what? you should go too. you’ll have fun.” _

_ jean shifted, “no. fuck you eren. i don’t need your pity.” _

_ “jean, I don’t pity you,” eren looked genuinely confused.  _

_ he shook his head. “whatever. i’m not going. i’ll see you at home.” _

_ jean turned and walked away from his brother for the last time. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the secret is out. How do you think Jean will fare?  
> This chapter is named for the Relient K song [Be My Escape](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvz0J0WBZPE). This song probably fits this story to a T. 
> 
> Since I've been gone I wrote a [canon piece](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5882662). Fair warning I'm NOT a canon writer.
> 
> If you haven't hit the kudos button but you've made it this far in the fic, what are you waiting for?  
> Also this is kind of the climax of Jean's story so don't be afraid to talk to meh about it, yo.
> 
> That being said, I'll see you soon enough!
> 
> Oh, and if you need something to hold you over there's always [my archive](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mindlessadri/works). Full of Jearmin goodness..... for the most part. Like seriously 80% Jearmin.


	7. A Soft Place To Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And I was running far away_   
>  _Would I run off the world someday?_   
>  _Nobody knows, nobody knows_
> 
>  
> 
> Jean comes to the end of the world and Armin brings him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm at the point of writing/posting a story where I literally hate everything I've written and want to just tear the internet down to hide it all away. This chapter has by far gone through the most editing. Mostly additions.
> 
> Wow, only 4 updates left. 
> 
> Anyway, good luck. This chapter is flangsty; heavy on the 'fl'. Also, a lot of Eren this chapter.... more than other chapters.

The fallout is bad. His mother hasn’t talked to him in three days. It’s been just as many since he’s come out of his room. He can’t remember if he’s eaten, and he can’t sleep so he’s just alone with his thoughts. His dishonesty. Eren would be disgusted with him, he thinks.

On the day in question Lira had called and urged Terry to come home, he had and she told him about Mikasa. About her swelling stomach, about the little life inside her. About how Jean had known. He’d looked at Jean, mirth swimming in his eyes. Nothing was spoken but Terry’s body language said it all. His whole body tensed, his hands clenched into fist, and his nostrils flared as his face turned red. Jean had never left a room so fast in his life. There was nothing else he could have done. There are no words for his betrayal. 

Even in death Eren is the favorite.

Mikasa hasn’t contacted him, but to be fair he hasn’t contacted her. All he can see is the confusion and betrayal written plainly across her face. He sees it when he closes his eyes. He sees his mother’s face streaked with tears. His father’s face, angry and red. Eren’s face, dead and broken and he doesn’t remember what Eren looked like when he was living anymore.

He wonders what the baby would think. Jean reasons the baby probably wouldn’t think much of anything. If it did, though, it would probably be disappointed. 

It occurs to him he hasn’t kept as in touch with Mikasa as he would have liked. He blames in on the disgusting sinking feeling. It pulls him down and leaves him tired and aching and he can’t help but feel that’s not a real excuse. As if everything he feels is invalid.

His phone buzzes and he turns over on his bed to grab it from the floor. It’s Armin. Again. He wants to see him, desperately. He just can’t find the strength. He continues to look at the snap icon in the upper left corner of his phone. His phone goes dark. Minutes pass, maybe hours. 

Jean’s phone lights up and buzzes in his hand. His eyes widen as Armin’s contact flashes across his screen. He’s calling him. Jean swallows and answers his phone. 

“Hello?” His voice is hoarse from disuse. He should really drink some water.

“Jean?” Armin sounds concerned. “Jesus. I thought - I don’t know what I was thinking but it wasn’t good.”

Jean rolls onto his back. “I’m sorry.” He means it. Deep down in his bones and all he can do is hope Armin knows that.

There’s a gap that lasts milliseconds, but it’s telling. “Jean, are you okay?”

The reaction is instant and he just manages to hold the phone away from his mouth as he sobs. Jean pulls himself together just long enough to answer Armin. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired.”

Armin says nothing, let’s the lie sit between them. “Can I come get you?”

Jean nods then realizes Armin can’t see it he answers him. “Please.”

Armin pulls up out front of Jean’s house twenty minutes later. He’s never dropped Jean off at his actual house, or picked him up for that matter. Jean’s sitting on the curb, burgundy hoodie pulled up over his head. He leans over the center console to unlock the door and Jean immediately plops into the seat. “Hey,” he offers Armin as he pulls his hood down and clips his seatbelt. 

Jean’s hair is damp like he’s just showered, the scent of his bodywash mingles in the stale air of Armin’s car. “Hey. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Armin feels the weight of Jean’s mood settle over him and sighs. He doesn’t know what is happening in Jean’s daytime life. To be fair, he also hasn’t told Jean anything about his daytime life. Jean doesn’t know about the nightmares or about how he has to stay busy to keep from thinking about how unclean he feels. Armin looks down to where Jean’s hands are in his lap. His eyes go wide, “Jean! Your hand.”

Jean turns it over regarding the appendage with a certain amount of dissociation. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t taken any pain pills yet he can hardly feel the laceration, save for a gentle throbbing. “It was an accident. I’m fine. Just a few stitches.”

Armin grabs Jean’s wrist, he can feel the fever of pain on the thin skin there. He squeezes then reaches up, touches Jean’s cheek. “Let’s go to the drive in.”

The drive in is located clear across the other side of town. It’s a forty minute drive. Jean doesn’t talk except to ask if he can make a playlist on Armin’s phone. He lets him, it only takes ten minutes then they’re listening to music from middle school. The playlist is half a confession and half nostalgia. Jean holds his hand like it's the final thread and Armin whispers the words.

They’re passing the Texas Station when Jean sits up. “It’s thursday. The drive in is only open on the weekend.”

Armin nods, “Yes, but this old film society rented it out to do a Molly Ringwald double feature today.”

“You like old movies?”

“I like movies.” Armin shrugs. “My mom likes old movies. Maybe I got it from her. I guess to her they’re just movies though.”

They pay the car fee and park towards the middle of the dirt lot. Armin puts his car in park, pops the back, and exits the vehicle. “C’mon,” he calls to Jean as he begins laying out the blanket in the back of his car. 

Jean obediently crawls into the back. He sits behind the driver’s side and Armin plops down next to him. 

“Oh!” Armin remembers the radio and reaches from the back to the front to adjust the station so they can hear the audio. “So...” Armin tries to bait him.

Jean glances at him without turning to look at him. His gaze is dead and not present. Even so Armin finds himself lost in the gorgeous gold of Jean’s eyes. He reaches his hand out and touches Jean’s cheek. Running his thumb over Jean’s cheekbone he leans in close touching their foreheads. “Shh. Handsome Stallion. You’re going to be okay.”

Jean snorts and then Armin watches as his face crumbles. His chin goes flat and ugly as he tries to stop his lip from quivering. His eyelashes are suddenly moist from the tears he’s trying to blink away. 

“No, nothing is going to be okay ‘Min,” Jean can’t stop himself. It’s all going to come out. Every dirty thing he’s hiding, not sharing. “Everything is falling apart and I can’t stop it! I want to but I can’t! I’m not  _ him.  _ I’m not  _ Eren. _ ”

Armin puts his hands on Jean’s shoulders, “Jean, no. No, don’t cry. Who’s Eren?”

“My brother.” The confession is small, quiet, and punctuated by snot flowing out of Jean’s nose.

He smooths his hands down Jean’s arms. “Well, where is he? If he can fix it, why not just ask?” Jean looks to him, face blank and then Armin understands. “Oh. Oh, Jean. I’m so sorry.” He pets Jean’s hair and Jean’s head falls to his shoulder. Armin can feel the tears soaking through his shirt as Jean’s body shakes in his arms.

Jean’s sobbing uncontrollably but that doesn’t stop him from thinking about how he’s mucking up Armin’s shirt. Something about crying, though, feels good; cathartic. Then the rambling starts. “They always loved him more. Everybody did. And I’m just the consolation prize. He’s  _ gone  _ and everybody around me is thinking about how I’m just some fucking Eren-lite.” 

Jean gulps for air like he’s panicking in open water. “He had his shit together. He was going to marry Mikasa and get a fucking athletic scholarship to any fucking school of his choice and he was going to make our parents proud and now he’s fucking dead and my parents get  _ me.”  _ The sobs that shake his body plow through him like a freight train. The weaken the very foundation of his person and make him feel like he’s moments from collapsing.

“I’m a fucking mess,” he says, or rather tries to say. The way it comes out is a garbled mess of incomprehensible sounds. He can taste the salt of his tears as he makes an attempt to breathe normally. “I’m always a mess. I make a mess of everything. I couldn’t even graduate for them and you know what they’re thinking? They don’t get to see either of their kids walk or go to prom or any of that other shit you’re supposed to do for them.

He grits his teeth together. He’s less person in this moment and more a viscous liquid with no form. “My parents hate me because, even if they aren’t saying it I know they’re thinking it. It’s my fault. He’s dead because of me. I  _ killed  _ my brother-” Then he can’t breathe. He’s crying so much it hurts in his lungs and throat and shoulders. 

“Shh,” Armin coos. “Breathe, breathe.” Armin lifts Jean’s face, kisses his tear streaked cheek. “We’re going to put your head between legs to help you breathe.” He pushes Jean’s head down and pats his back. The movie has started. The audio fills the car,  _ You see us as you want to see us...in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions.  _

He’s not sure what to say, Armin’s not even sure Jean needs or wants him to say anything. It’s suddenly obvious this is the weight Jean has been carrying with him. The cause of his sleepless nights, distance from his friends, and more. He’s sure this is only the tip of the iceberg, just a dump of emotions Jean could no longer contain. 

Armin touches his back and Jean tenses further before finally beginning to relax under Armin’s touch. It takes nearly half the movie before Jean can move, let alone speak.

“She’s pregnant.”

Armin’s face scrunches up. “Who is?”

“Mikke. Eren’s girlfriend.” Armin senses more so he gives Jean a moment to swallow before he continues. “I slept with her. After Eren died. It was just once and it was so stupid. But we were hurt and alone. It didn’t even feel right at the time. But it was different from the emptiness he left.” Jean sniffles. “I’m sure Eren hates me for it. The baby - it could be mine. I think I want it to be mine, sometimes. I just - I want something to hold on to. Something to protect the way I couldn’t with -” He pauses again, lets out a shaky breath. “Everytime I bring it up Mikke looks at me like she’s about to break. But she’s smart she has to know what I’m thinking.”

“Jean,” he looks up at Armin. He puts himself in the space between Jean’s legs. Armin takes Jean’s face in his hands. He wipes away the tears from Jean’s eyes. 

Words escape him. Armin wonders what he can even say in the wake of Jean’s break down that will soothe his pain. It’s so deeply rooted that Armin’s sure it’ll be there, hidden, even when Jean is old. “You’re wonderful. I’m happy you’re here with me.” Fresh tears fall out of Jean’s eyes and Armin wipes them with his thumbs. 

“You still think that? Even after I - just...” Jean can’t even finish the sentence without his voice threatening to cave. 

Armin places his lips on Jean’s, gently. He lingers just long enough to answer him and pulls away. “And so much more, Jean.”

Jean stares at him a long moment, feels the swelling ocean in his chest begin to settle and Armin’s on the shore guiding him back to port. He lets out a slow and even breath. “I feel like shit ‘Min.”

Armin smoothes his hair back, an offering of support. “I know.” He can’t bring himself to lie and say it will get better, he’s been wondering if it ever does for years. He has no answers, just enough charisma that Jean wants him around.

They stare at each other, moments passing. The movie plays on;  _ Like, when I step outside myself kinda, and when I, when I look in at myself, you know? And I see me and I don't like what I see, I really don't. _

“Are you going to be mad if I say I’m not up for this tonight.”

Armin shakes his head, “No. I’ll take you home.”

 

* * *

 

_ “what do you mean you don’t want to play cello? I thought you liked cello.” clara’s lip quivered. she thought she’d done so well. she thought she had finally found something to help armin. _

_ armin pushed his food around on his plate. his father wasn’t home yet, it was lunch time. he started school tomorrow. “i do like cello.” _

_ “armin, baby, we already enrolled you in the music program after school.” _

_ “don’t,” clara looked up. “don’t call me that.” _

_ “what? baby? you don’t want me to call you baby?” _

_ armin swallowed, “i’m eleven. i’m too old for that.” _

_ ella use to call him baby. “oh, sweetheart. i get it now.” _

_ he looked at her, perplexed, maybe. “get what?” _

_ “you miss ella.” she pulled him against her chest. _

_ “i don’t know.” his voice was small and tight. _

_ “listen to me.” she held him at arm length. “you are very gifted with the cello. don’t let moving stop you from continuing. would you feel better with a private tutor?” _

_ armin stilled. his head screamed no but, “yeah. can i have a guy this time?” men wouldn’t be like ella.  _

_ clara smoothed his hair back, “sure thing, baby. oops, i mean sweetheart.” _

 

* * *

 

 

Armin pulls up outside Jean’s house, parks, and looks over at Jean. “Are you going to be okay?”

Jean’s looking at his house like it might be the last time he goes in. “I don’t know.” It’s honest and, after tonight, he knows Armin won’t judge him for his weakness. I strikes him then, he doesn’t want to be out but he doesn’t want to be alone. “Do you wanna come in?”

Armin stares back at him, little wisps of blond hair blowing gently in the air conditioner. He faces front, Armin can feel his heart fall to his stomach. Turning the car off is his answer. He gets out and comes around the hood to the passenger side. Jean closes his door and takes a step forward.

The stillness that awaits them in the house is stiff and suffocating. Armin feels the tension that lives there immediately, so he sticks close to Jean. They walk nearly to the end of the hall where Jean’s bedroom is. RC is sitting in the stairwell at the end of the hall, “Hey, boy,” Armin whispers. Rosencrantz’s ears perk up and he trots over to let Armin pet him.

“He can’t come in.” Armin looks to Jean. “I’m allergic. He was,” he breathes in like he might cry. Jean wonders if he’s ever going to stop crying now that he’s started. “He was never mine.”

Armin takes his hand away and turns towards the door Jean is opening. “Bye, bye RC.”

Jean scrunches up his face as they enter. He’s failed remember what a disaster his room is. “Sorry,” he says as he starts kicking his laundry into a pile and tossing soda cans towards his already full trash can. 

“It’s fine,” Armin steps towards Jean’s bed. “Can I sit?”

Armin’s face is only lit by the street lamp outside. He looks goddamn gorgeous. He thinks, maybe, ethereal is the right word. Jean tugs at his hair, notes he needs a haircut, “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I, uh. You can sit, it’s fine.” 

Jean finishes his poor attempt at cleaning and turns on his TV. The blue of the screen lights the room as he turns on his console. “We could still watch  _ The Breakfast Club. _ ”

“Jean,” Armin’s voice is soft and he grabs the hem of Jean’s shirt. “You don’t have to try so hard. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

Following Armin’s cue Jean sits on to his bed next to him. Armin pulls the controller out of Jean’s hand and shuts the console off. He scooches back towards the window and lays down, shoes on the bed, head on the pillow. 

Jean swallows, hard, and lays down facing Armin. He leaves a respectable amount of space between them not because he’s thinking too seriously about this situation or the possible implications; it’s because he feels gross and unloveable .

“Do you want to talk about it?” Armin’s voice travels in the space between them

Jean licks his lips and is overly aware of how rough they feel. “I don’t know. I feel like if I talk about it you’ll get bored with me. I’m not sure what to talk about either. I feel like I said it all, but also like I didn’t say anything.”

There’s a pause, Jean’s almost sure Armin suddenly regrets being there. “Tell me about Eren.”

Jean rolls onto his back and looks at the ceiling. It takes him a few tries. He gulps for air like a guppy as he tries to find the words. “I don’t even know where to start. He was so different from me. Better. 

“Eren - he was everything I wanted to be. He was charismatic and a natural leader. When ever he set his mind to something he made it happen. He wanted to start on varsity his freshman year, so he spent all of his eighth grade year training. I didn’t think he could do it. I told him it was impossible, they’d never start a freshman. He did it though, proved me wrong. I never saw our dad so happy. 

“Our dad played football in college, same position as Eren; receiver. He went to all of Eren’s games. He could never make it to a cross country meet but he always made it to Eren’s games.”

He looks over to Armin for the first time. His face is so calm and reassuring he has to look away and back a few times. There’s no way he deserves this moment as tender and patient as it is. Armin’s hand touches his chest as if sensing his dilemma. Jean turns back to face him. Armin scooches to close the gap a little and so does he. 

“I loved him, but I hated him sometimes. I hated how much our parents loved him. I hated how when he got to high school he got everything I wanted. I hated how everything came so easily to him. I don’t mean academics or anything, I just mean life. Like Mikasa,” Jean swallows. “If he was still here they would have eventually gotten married. Schools were lining up to give him scholarships. Things just always fell into his lap, like winning tickets on the radio. His life was just one instance of dumb luck after another and there I was lost in his shadow. 

“People loved him. I mean, he could be a real asshole, but he was so set in his convictions people couldn’t help but want to agree with him. 

“This one time we were at a store and this guy our age ran into this lady and made her drop her groceries in the parking lot.It was the middle of summer, too, so the pavement was burning. Eren went after him and forced him to come back and apologize. That’s just how he was, ya know? Black and white. Right and wrong. And I was all the gray. 

“I know when things are right but I don’t always do them. I know when things are wrong and sometimes I do it anyway. I want to like myself, but I actually hate myself,” Jean sobs. Fresh tears sting his eyes and he wipes them away. It’s embarrassing to think Armin’s watching him cry. It probably makes him look weak and cowardly, or something. He feels Armin’s hand on his back. It pulls him close, into Armin’s chest. It’s warm and solid, he can hear Armin’s heartbeat.

“I killed him,” he breathes into Armin’s chest. “I was supposed to go to a party with him. I didn’t because I realized he was just using me for a ride. He was being an asshole, but that doesn’t mean - I could have - It’s my - If I had been driving he would still be here.”

“Shh,” Armin kisses the top of his head. There’s no advice that’s significant to offer in the wake of death. Death is sometimes physical and other times it’s intangible, he knows this well. “You’ve done your best, Jean. You loved him. I know. If I know then he has to know.”

Jean’s sobbing becomes little hiccups. Armin holds him close. The warmth of his body seeps into Jean and cradles his heartache like a fussy child. The warmth pulls him under a shroud of darkness even as Armin mumbles the words to some song he doesn’t know. His eyelids grow heavy with the weight of his sadness. And for the first time, in a long time, he falls asleep before midnight.

 

* * *

 

_ his name was john. he lived on base and armin was supposed to bike to his house after school monday, tuesday, and thursday. he didn’t show up the first two days. he’d managed to make it to the guys house both days but he couldn’t go inside. he couldn’t even cross the street. he would just sit there and ring his hands over the handlebar grips.  _

_ john taught cello, or so armin’s mother had told him. he wanted to go, truly. he loved playing music. it clicked with him, gave him something to excel at that people weren’t teasing him about. he just didn’t like learning it, not if ella’s way was the only way. _

_ on the day of what should have been his third lesson he rode his bike home, sitting on the porch was a man that wasn’t quite middle aged but looked that way to a young child. he had dark brown hair and seafoam green eyes. he made armin’s mouth dry in a way he hadn’t experienced.  _

_ “are you armin?” _

_ armin pushed his bike up the driveway. “yes, sir.” _

_ “i’m john. your cello teacher.” armin didn’t respond, so he continued. “you haven’t been coming to our lessons. your mother was worried. but, you know, i think i’ve seen a kid like you hanging around my part of the neighborhood. across the street from my house.” _

_ “i, um, i got lost.” armin set his bike down and flushed from embarrassment. “why didn’t my mom just ask me?” _

_ john scooched over on the bench under armin’s porch and patted the seat next to him. armin sat, but pushed himself to the corner. “well, armin,” john put his elbows on his knees and looked to him with a sigh. “your mom thinks maybe you are reluctant to go because you had a strong connection with your last teacher. i can’t promise to be just like her, but you will still learn everything you need to.” _

_ armin picked at a stray thread on his cardigan sleeve. “i didn’t like her that much.” his eyes go wide when he realizes what he said and he turns to john, “don’t tell my mom.” _

_ john nodded as he contemplated, “i see. do you even like cello?” _

_ “yeah, i just didn’t like the way she did it. it didn’t teach me anything.” armin shifted uncomfortably on his hips. “i don’t know. sometimes she hurt me.” _

_ he looked up and away when he saw how john’s brow was furrowed. “hurt you how?” _

_ suddenly armin felt like he was about to be in trouble. ella use to tell him people would be mad at him if he told them he was trying to master his body so early. “um, she hit my fingers with her bow sometimes when i got the position wrong,” he lied. _

_ john looked at him sadly. “i promise i won’t do that.” he pointed across the street to a truck. “i brought my cello. what do you say we do a trial lesson? if you don’t like the way i do it well, we’ll come up with something to tell your mother. together” _

_ something about john seemed kind. armin realized wasn’t like ella, so maybe it would be fine. “okay,” armin stood. “i’ll go get mine. i’ll meet you inside.” _

_ john saved the cello for armin. he was kind and patient and never did any of the things ella did to him. he cultivated armin’s talents with such care that armin felt it’s warmth in his blood. he excelled, not a prodigy but damn near close if john had ever seen one.  _

_ when armin moved away, again, the little boy, just on the cusp of puberty, cried silently in his bed. _

 

* * *

 

He wants to have sex with Jean. Armin’s been thinking about it for the last few day. It’s not because Jean is necessarily special or the one, it’s because he’s broken just like Armin is. He knows Jean isn’t really broken, people can’t break. But, there’s something dark and dirty in him. Not the same as Armin but similar enough that, maybe, it’s okay. It’s okay that he’s dirty and used and he’s not going to make Jean that way because Jean already is that way.

Armin stops himself from poking holes in his flimsy logic. He knows it’s selfish to come to these conclusions but if Jean wants to have sex as well then he reasons it’s not going to hurt anything.

He’s thought about sex in the past, he jerks off relatively often. If he can just remain in control it should be fine. Armin’s sitting at his desk with his cheek against the wood. He’s not sure he can do it, but he wants to try because it’s never been that he didn’t have an interest in sex. Instead it’s two thing. The first being that he feels guilty; as if he’s being untruthful when he’s with other boys. As if he was broken to be gay. He groans to himself because he hates this thought so much it gives him a headache. Deep in his bones he knows he’s always been gay but there is always this nagging voice in the back of his mind begging  _ what if? _

The second reason is he often has to moderate his own thoughts until he’s relaxed enough to feel okay with the idea. He feels like he does it all day and it’s exhausting having to constantly watch over his own mind. It’s like back tracking through the panic and having to find himself all over again.

He can imagine it though. Jean fingers sliding up his sides. The pads of his fingers would be soft, not calloused like his own.  _ you are in control. _ Jean’s tongue on his neck sucking until his skin is cherry red. Armin begins to palm himself through his shorts. Bringing himself to full mast, he takes himself out of his shorts and uses his hips to thrust into his clenched hand.  _ everything is fine. this is your decision.  _ Armin thinks of Jean sliding their cocks together, slick with precum and spit.  _ this is your body.  _ Armin cants into his hand, breath coming out hot against his desk and he can’t think which is exactly what he wants. The guilt dies in his orgasm. 

Armin sits up and looks at his hand. He’s still breathing hard as he stands to go clean himself up. He looks himself in the mirror as he washes the cum off his fingers. He decides then, it’s something he wants. Jean is something he wants. Now he just has to figure out how to get it.

Going back to his room he sits at his desk again and shakes his mouse. He brings up skype and immediately he has a request from his mother. 

“Hey mom,” he smiles. She has her hair pulled back like she’s been cleaning all morning.

She smiles, “Hey sweetheart. How are you?”

Armin thinks back to a conversation he had with Oliver not to long ago. He’d lied, he’s not out to his parents. He likes to think if they asked he’d tell them but he’s not sure. Maybe when they come to visit. “I’m fine. How are you and dad?”

“We’re great. Listen Armin, I have some news.”

“What?”

“Our visit has been finalized! We’ll be flying home to you in a few days”

Armin feels a smile split his face. “Really? When are you going to be here?”

“Wednesday the second.”

He looks to his calendar above his desk. “That’s not even a week away.”

“I know sweetheart! Make sure to catch up on your studies so we can go on our trip.”

“Mom, do you know me at all? I’m already three weeks ahead in class.”

“I just want to make sure.” His mother’s eyes swim with affection. “Make sure to get some rest. It’s late there and I’m about to head out with some of the wives to a movie.”

Armin feels a calmness he hadn’t expected in knowing his parents are coming home to him. “Yes ma’am.”

They hang up and Armin logs out of skype. He’s actually just gotten up. It’s not too late, only about eleven. He gets on facebook and finds Jean’s profile. They aren’t friends on facebook, mostly because Jean’s last post was more than a few months ago. 

_ Eren Kirschstein,  _ Armin finds his icon in Jean’s friends _.  _ His profile has been memorialized. His facebook feed is overflowing with varying messages like  _ miss you man, you are missed, we love you, my heart goes out to the family, tragedy.  _

The word tragedy is used so many times Armin can’t help but note it. Teachers, coaches, students all shared in the grief of his death. Armin clicks into Eren’s pictures. He doesn’t have a lot in his own photos. A generic guy selfie of him with no shirt on in the bathroom mirror. A few of him and a girl tagged as Mikasa and captions that refer to her as  _ the love of my life.  _ There’s even one of RC, snout pressed into Eren’s neck and tongue licking at the underside of Eren’s jaw. But, the vast majority of pictures of Eren are pictures taken by other people. At parties. At the mall. At people’s houses. At school games. It serves to show that he was a large part of many people’s lives.

He was handsome, Armin thinks as he clicks through his pictures. His smile is bright and contagious. Even Armin finds himself drawn to his presence. Suddenly, he understands why Jean probably feels so inadequate in the wake of his brother’s death. He doesn’t agree, will never agree, with Jean’s reasoning, but he understands the more times he sees Eren’s face. They are different.

He finds the last of Eren’s statuses and skims them. 

_ Going to Andre’s paaar-tay. Celebrate regionals boys! - Nov. 8th 2013 [19:52:46 PST] _

_ Jean’s got something up his ass. - Nov. 7th 2013 [14:23:52 PST] _

_ This self video journal project for Dan’s videography class is bull. - Nov. 7th 2013 [07:12:31 PST] _

His phone buzzes against the desk and Armin snaps out of his snooping. It’s from Jean.  _ sorry about the other night.  _

It’s been about a day and a half since Jean slept on Armin’s chest. He smiles to himself at the memory of him disentangling himself from Jean just as the sun was peeking over the mountainous horizon. Jean didn’t even move, just snored softly as Armin found the shoes he’d kicked off at some point during the night. He’d left a note:  _  jean, had to leave before my grandpa got up. text me when you want to talk. or not talk. your call. - armin _

Armin taps out his reply.  _ there’s nothing to apologize for. i wanted to be there.  _ Send.

He turns his phone over anxiously in his hand. Minutes pass then his screen lights up.

_ park? 15 mins. _

He pulls on pants and a sweater, stuffs his feet into the first pair of shoes he finds. He hasn’t brought his car so he slaps the concrete with his rubber soles as he walks. Part of him is nervous about seeing Jean after such a private moment. It isn’t until he’s halfway there that he realizes he never even got back to Jean. Armin keeps walking, Jean will be there even without a reply.

He comes to the landing of the park and sees Jean sitting on the same bench as the first time he let him borrow a book. Life returns to normal speed without Armin ever realizing it had sped up in the first place. 

Jean raises his bandaged hand and gives a little wave as smile breaks out over Armin’s face. The apprehension he’d been feeling as he walked to the park melts away leaving him with this pleasant feeling of suspension. “Hey,” he says as Armin comes to a stop in front of his knees. 

“Hey yourself.” Armin bites his lip. “Are you feeling better today?”

There’s no point to dishonesty, Jean thinks. “Yes and no.”

Armin nods, shifts back and forth on his feet. “We can talk about it. If you want.”

Jean scoots over so he’s no longer in the middle of the bench. Armin sits close anyway. He fills the gaps, the ones between their thighs and shoulders and, yet, other ones Jean can’t pinpoint. He swallows, “I still haven’t talked to my parents. I don’t think they want to talk to me.” Taking a breath he continues. “But I slept. So that’s good. Things seem less shitty.”

He notices Armin’s upturned hand and laces his fingers with Armin’s. He stretches, throwing his arms outward and Armin’s whole body lurches forward because of the difference in the length of their arms. They glance at each other and look away laughing as Jean slouches on the bench. Armin squeezes his hand back.

“My parents are coming to visit.”

Jean looks over to Armin, his profile softened in the dim park lamp. “That’s great. You miss them, right?”

Armin nods, “Yeah. I do. I’ll be gone for a little while though.”

“How long?”

He shrugs, “Not more than two weeks. They want to go on a road trip with me.”

“What are you guys going to do?”

“Probably visit the bases we lived on out west.” He looks to Jean, a different kind of tiredness than he’s used to seeing lingers on him. “How’s your hand?”

Jean lifts his right hand to the light, flexes his fingers and winces. “Sore, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“When do you get your stitches out?”

He looks up trying to recall what the doctor said. That day is such a blur, he can hardly recall anything that happened after his mom saw Mikasa. There’s just yelling and sadness. “Sometime next week. Assuming my parents will take me.”

“I would say I’d take you but I’ll probably be gone. You don’t drive?”

He rolls his head to look at Armin, “I do. Well, I  _ did. _ ” Jean sighs. “I’m sure I still can. I just, I don’t want to.” He thinks back to how Eren was supposed to get his license over winter break but never got to. He thinks about how there wasn’t a Christmas tree this past year and how Christams itself passed without him even realizing.

Armin leans into him. Presses their bodies closer, as if looking for warmth. After a moment he settles. They pass the sleepless night like that. Pressed close for comfort and skimming the surface.

 

* * *

 

_ “i joined cross country.” _

_ terry looks up across the table to jean. something twinkled in his eye and a small smile slipped on to his face. “really?” _

_ jean swallowed, “uh, yeah. it’ll be after school monday through thursday and saturday morning up until winter break.” _

_ terry sat back in his chair, pride evident. “that’s my boy!” he clapped his hands together. “you know, your old man use to run cross country in high school. never finished first but, damn, did I get close.”  _

_ lira reaches over and grabs jean’s hand. “good for you  _ hijo _. just don’t let your grades slip.” _

_ he rolled his eyes. “i’m not a baby mom.” _

_ “yeah, you’re a gigantic baby.” jean looked across the table to eren who just smiled and shoved his rice, avocado, and  _ tapatío _ mixture into his mouth. _

_ “eren,” lira sighed. “jean has taken on a responsibility by choice. he should be commended.” _

_ “damn straight,” terry nodded. “we’re very proud of his decision. i’m proud.” terry’s attention turned back to jean. “have you spoken with your coach yet? you should get an idea on what type of training you need to be doing in your off time. also talk to him about conditioning and diet so your mom can get you the right fuel for you body.” _

_ jean watched eren closely but replied to his father. “I haven’t yet but-” _

_ eren’s mouth twisted into a thin line like he was thinking of what to say next. “i did something like that too. took on a responsibility by choice.” _

_ “really  _ mi precioso?  _ let jean finish. _ ” 

_ eren set his  _ tortilla _ down as jean continued. “i asked - i, uh, asked mikasa to be my girlfriend,” he says right as jean is starting to explain the uniform fee. _

_ jean watched as his mother looked up from across the table, “¿ _ que?”

_ “she said yes.” _

_ “eren,” lira warned. _

_ “mom,” eren threw back nice and slow. _

_ terry sat up in his intimidating dad pose. “eren. mikasa is a nice girl and we all know what you have on your mind.” _

_ eren’s face became defensive, eyes wide and sarcastic. “what dad? is it sex? is all i think about sex?” _

_ “ _ ¡mios dio! _ ” lira covered her mouth and sighed. she was quiet when she spoke. “ _ tu es un niño. ¡un niño! _ ” _

_ jean could practically see the gears turning in terry’s head as he recalled what he was doing at fourteen. “eren. you are a boy. i know you think you’re a man and you’re ready for the emotional commitment of having a relationship but what if you’re not? you _ will  _ ruin things with mikasa, she’s your best friend.” _

_ eren leaned back in his chair. “she’s it for me. i know it. we’re not going to break up. i’m not going to get hurt. we’re going to be together until the end.” _

_ lira pushed back her chair, a string of spanish curse words floating off her tongue. _

_ terry ran his hand through his hair, “lira, baby, come back. let’s finish dinner.” _

_ “ _ ¡no! ¡tus hijo es loco! ¡loco! _ ” she threw her hand up as she walked down the hall. _

_ his father looked to eren. “you know you’re going to put her in an early grave. you’ve driven her to full spanish for crying out loud, eren!” _

_ “it’s not a big deal dad. i mean, i think we all knew it was going to happen. eventually.” _

_ “that’s not the point eren. the rule is no dating until high school.” terry motioned towards jean. “your brother can follow the rules why can’t you?” _

_ “pft. ask him what he’s been doing this summer.” _

_ jean felt himself blush. memories of him and marco pressing close together with stiff need between them came to the forefront of his mind.  _

_ terry looked to jean and rubbed his face. his mouth opened and closed as if he was going to speak to that. the realization that even trying to talk about that right now would just detract from the issue eren just created made him leave it alone. “you know what? i don’t even want to know. at least he can keep it a secret so your mom doesn’t freak out,” terry said. “your phone privileges are gone for as many days as it takes hours for your mother to calm down.” _

_ eren furrowed his brow, “so, you’re just going to let jean off?” _

_ terry pinned him with his eyes. “yes. and if you snitch on him to your mother so help me i will personally make your life a living hell.” _

_ “that’s not fair!” _

_ “well, you should have thought about that before you tried to throw your brother under the bus.” _

_ “i’m not breaking up with her.” _

_ he stood from the table and groaned into his palms. having once been a young boy himself terry knew forbidding him from dating mikasa was only going to irritate the situation. lira was about to be inconsolable. he could practically already hear her crying over the boys’ baby pictures. “fine. do whatever you want. but if either of these girls gets pregnant i’ll hang you up by your testicales in the garage. now i’m going to go try and convince you mother not to ship you off to live with your grandmother.” _

_ jean pushed back from the table when he heard their parent’s bedroom door close. “you couldn’t let me have it could you?” _

_ “what are you talking about?” _

_ “i finally did something to make them proud of me and you had to swoop in with the eren show. it’s always about you.” _

_ “jesus. not this again.” _

_ “whatever,” jean could hear the snarl in his voice. “and what the fuck do you know about what i’ve been doing this summer?” _

_ eren stood and walked to the kitchen. “nothing more than the hickies all over your chest could tell me. you’re lucky mom thinks they’re bruises from messing around.” _

_ “fuck you.” _

_ “you’re not supposed to cuss.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter title comes to you from [Runaway](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_HlPboLRL8) by AURORA. I think with the combination of the video the song reminds me a lot of Jean. The whole feeling of isolation and need to find something new in life. But it also reminds me of healing and I think this chapter marks the point where Jean is ready to start trying to heal.
> 
> I have a small idea of what song Armin is singing to Jean in his room but honestly I'm not sure. It's not necessarily romantic or modern. It's probably something his mom use to clean the house to when he was a baby. Anyway, if you think of one drop it in the comments.... fff maybe I'll even make it canon. Maybe I'll write a fic based on the song. I'm just throwing out prizes. Geez. 
> 
> Some of the areas I made additions to were the scene at the drive in, the scene in Jean's room, and the last flashback scene - mostly between Eren and Terry. I thought it was important to show that Eren isn't the golden child Jean makes him out to be. Jean himself isn't a reliable narrator when it comes to Eren.
> 
> Anyway, subscribe to get emails when I update. Or book mark. Or better yet leave a review or a kudos. I'm trying this new thing where I respond to all comments. 
> 
> PS: the prize from the last "contest" is being worked on and will be done soon.


	8. Where We Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I like where we are,_   
>  _When we drive, in your car_   
>  _I like where we are.... Here_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Cause our lips, can touch_  
>  _And our cheeks, can brush_  
>  _Our lips can touch here_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Maybe something good happens? IDK man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses. This chapter was a fucking monster for me. Chapters like this always are. So much rewriting I never want to do this again. It's 15 pages an nearly 8k words. Okay? 
> 
> Let's see. What's instore for you? Either Armin flies off the deep end or they make out in Jean's room. It's anybody's guess.

Armin steadies his breathing and counts his steps as he comes to the luggage carousel his parents are going to meet him at. It’s been months since he’s seen them and he’s verging on nervous. He straightens up his walk, pushes his voice just a bit deeper. He’s so obvious, he thinks. But, maybe it’s enough, enough to make him look straight. Armin doesn’t actually believe that his parents will hate him for being gay. There’s just something about him being their only kid that makes him feel guilty. Then there’s the whole thing where his anxiety lets him believe he wouldn’t be gay had it not been for - for what happened to him.

“Armin!” He turns to the escalator. His mother drops her bag and his dad catches it just in time to stop it from hitting the ground. She sprints to him and throws her arms around his neck, nearly toppling him. “Armin. Armin,” he can feel her warm tears on his neck. “I missed you so much.” She cards her fingers through his hair as he hugs back. “You’re hair is getting so long,” she says pulling back and wiping the tears from her eyes.

His dad finally joins them. “Hey, son.” He pulls Armin into a tight but brief hug. “You taking care of your grandfather okay?”

“When he let’s me. That old man wouldn’t slow down at a yellow light. He has poker on Monday and Thursday, bingo on Tuesday and Saturday, his book club Friday, and he volunteers Wednesday and Sunday at the hospice.”

“Oh, dad” Clara bites her cheek. “I really wish he would slow down but for the life of me I can’t convince him to.”

“Maybe it’s keeping him young,” Richard kisses the top of her head. “Let’s get going.”

They make their way out to Armin’s car. He’s just beginning to navigate the airport connector when he dad asks, “So,” there’s poignot pause.  “Armin, meet anyone special out here?”

His mother peers forward from the back seat. “Yeah. Maybe a _girl?”_

He swallows, knows they are teasing. “I’ve made a friend.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic sweetheart!” His mom taps his shoulder excitedly. “Tell us about them. It’s been so long since you’ve made a new mom.”

“Geez, you make me sound hopeless.” Armin snorts. There’s plenty he could tell them about Jean but he’s not sure he can do it without giving himself away. “It’s not a big deal. What about you? Have you made friends?”

His mother launches into a story about the new army wives she’s met. “But of course I don’t just hang out with them,” she continues once they’re back to his grandfather’s house. “I met some locals who work in the more tourist areas, so they speak english pretty well. They’ve taken me all around the city. You’d love it! I know _you_ would. You’re father hates when I go out with them.”

“I don’t _hate_ it. I just worry about you being a city where you don’t know the language.”

Clara laughs, “Oh hush up.”

Armin smiles at them as they exit the car. He gets his adventurous side from his mother. And his pragmaticism from his dad.

The next few hours are a whirlwind. There’s more tears when Clara and her dad reunite. Then just so much talking. School. Books. Work. City outings. Daily grind. It all amounts to them catching up. For the first time in a while Armin feels more at ease than ever. Perhaps it’s the safety of knowing his parents are there.

They order pizza. Hawaiian for mom and grandpa; chicken for Armin and his dad. It’s simple but they all sit at the kitchen table as opposed to the couch. Armin is pulling his second slice away from his mouth; the cheese slides off with it much to his upset. Then his phone goes off.

Armin excuses himself from the table just as his grandpa’s story about the senior olympics dies down. He goes out front and dials Jean.

“Hello?” Jean picks up on the first ring.

He smiles at how Jean sounds out of breath, like he’d lunged for the phone. “Armin. Hey, thanks for calling me back. Is this a bad time?”

“No. But I was just having dinner with my parents.”

“Oh fuck. I’m sorry I didn’t mean for that - it’s just that I wanted to make sure your parents got in okay, I guess.”

He snorts. “That’s sweet. You could have just texted me though,” Armin feels a smile creep across his face.

“Yeah. I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to you before you left tomorrow. I guess.” Jean’s voice sounds small like he’s prepared to be turned down.

“You’re guessing a lot today.”

“What?”

Armin laughs to himself and kicks his shoe against the ground. “Nothing. Forget it.” He glances behind himself and weighs the possibility of being caught by his parents sneaking out to meet a boy and the want of meeting said boy. “We could meet up. Later, I mean.”

There’s a split second of shock. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s great. You’ll text me?”

“Yeah.”

Armin showers first so he can have time to change in his room before his parents take it over for the night. He stares at the contents of his drawers and contemplates. He picks up a pair of flannel sleep shorts. They sit high on his thighs when he wears them Their mostly for the summer when the heat makes it impossible to keep the house cool. It doesn’t make much sense to wear them now. But, maybe, if he wore them over to Jean’s. He shakes his head but tugs them on anyway.

He’s decided he’s giving this too much thought. He’s getting ahead of himself. Just because tonight it the best he’s been since his parents left doesn’t mean it’s opening doors for anything else. With out much more thought he pulls on a thick pullover sweater his dad gave him years ago that he was told he’d eventually grow into; he never did.

Armin waits until the house is quiet. It’s nearly eleven when he toes on his sneakers and makes his way out the door.

Not bothering to take his car Armin walks quickly towards Jean’s house. It’s only a ten minute walk but his legs are goosed and hair standing on end by the time he reaches Jean’s street. He’d told himself he’d worn the shorts because they were comfortable but realizes now how asinine he’s being because the logical part of his brain is not happy with how cold his body is.

He dials Jean and he picks up on the third ring. “Hey, I’m outside.”

“Oh, okay. Um,” Jean sounds winded. “Give me two seconds.”

“It’s cold”

“I promise!”

The line goes dead and Armin snorts as he waits at the end of the driveway. A minute later he sees the door open and Jean waves him over. He bounds up to the door and Jean practically pulls him inside and down the hall.

“Sorry, I was cleaning my room and thought I heard my parents.”

Armin smiles at Jean’s piss poor job of trying to clean his room. They’re standing in the middle of the floor looking at each other, a distinct energy between them.

“It’s okay.”

Jean swallows. His mind is working a million miles a minute and all his senses are turned to maximum capacity. He can’t help but second guess himself. Armin is in his room and he looks hot. So fucking hot Jean can hardly stand it.

It’s impossible but he wishes Armin just knew everything he was thinking in this moment. The want he feels is immense but he doesn’t want to move to fast. Say the wrong thing like he knows he’s liable to do at any moment. The last thing he wants is to pressure Armin.

“I would sit on the bed but I don’t want you to think I wanted you to come over for that or something.” Jean scratches at the back of his head and Armin swears he sees a blush at the tip of his ears.

Armin licks his lips. “What if I tell you I did?” He’s surprised he’s said it. The statement is so bold.

Jean goes completely still and looks up with eyes wide. “Did you?” His heart pounds in his chest like it’s trying to break his ribs.

He looks anywhere but Jean’s face. It’s as if the sudden acknowledgement of what he’s said has made the moment more real than it had been. “I don’t know.” Armin pushes some hair that’s fallen out of his bun behind his ear. “Maybe a little.”

Jean’s staring at Armin slack jaw and trying to tell himself that him saying that doesn’t mean it’s a good time to get a boner. He closes his mouth and steps back, knocking his calves against the bed. The moment seems achingly slow as he locks eyes with Armin and sits slowly on the edge of his bed.

He watches as Armin tugs nervously at the sleeves of his sweater. “Slow. Okay?” His resolve doesn’t leave him but rather Armin starts to think that, maybe, this means more. That Jean means more in a way he had told himself Jean wouldn’t. If this does mean more then Armin is ill equipped and damaged and -

“Of course.”Jean’s voice, sincere but heady with lust pulls Armin back. It soothes his anxiety and wait patiently for him to respond.

Armin shakes off his shoes and steps forward until he’s standing in front of Jean’s knees. His legs part and Armin takes another step forward. He sets his arms across Jean’s shoulders. Jean doesn’t move. Armin notices his hands balled in fist against the comforter. “I think you have to do it. I’m nervous,” his voice wavers as he hands over his trust. “But, still, slow.”

“You don’t have to be nervous. I won’t do anything you don’t like.” Jean sets his hands on Armin’s outer thighs as he maintains eye contact. “This okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You know you’re like really just gorgeous.”

Armin snorts. “Nobody looks good from this angle.”

He shrugs. “You do. But tell me one thing,” Jean massages the soft, finely haired flesh of Armin’s legs.

“What?”

“Did you wear the shorts for me?” He can’t help the way an embarrassed cheeky smile creeps over his face.

Armin blushes and shoves Jean shoulder. “Shut up.” His face betrays him and he smiles. Lifting one leg then the other he situates himself over Jean’s thighs.

They maintain eye contact even as Jean’s hands start gliding over the expanse of skin from his hip to his knee.

Armin finds his hands trying to bury themselves in Jean’s hair.

Jean finally looks away from Armin’s eyes to glance longingly at his pink mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

Armin feels his eyelids start to slide closed. “Will you kiss me?” He challenges.

Their mouths slot together softly at first then more feverishly as their tongues slide over each other in a suddenly hurried dance. One of Jean’s hands moves under Armin’s sweater and grips the sharp hipbone it finds.

Armin tugs himself closer, pressing his groin into Jean’s lower belly and lips hard against Jean’s. He can do this. The thoughts are at bay, he’s not hurting anybody by doing this. Guilt for thinking this way is the only thing he can really feel outside of Jean tongue fucking his mouth. He can feel himself beginning to pant hot and heady into Jean’s mouth as he let’s himself be taken along like driftwood in the ocean. He tugs Jean’s lower lip with his teeth and pulls away.

Jean’s eyes are glassy when he looks up. “Everything okay?”

He laughs to himself. “Yeah. Great.”

Suddenly, Jean pushes his head into Armin’s chest and turns it back and forth like he’s trying to drill his way to Armin’s heart. “I don’t think you know what slow means, ‘Min.”

“Shut up, please.” Armin pushes him back and goes for Jean’s mouth.

“Wait,” Jean rolls Armin off him. “The light.”

Armin huffs as he looks at the ceiling trying to catch his breath. “That seems really unnecessary.” He laughs at himself because of how out of place Jean’s statement is. “What? Am I gross?” Hea means it as a joke but the sudden creeping thought of it being true begins to poison his mind.

“Yeah that’s it,” Jean follows the initial mood then glances behind himself. Armin’s body language changes so he’s somehow folded in on himself. They stare at each other for a moment across the small expanse of Jean’s room. “Are you - ” Jean searches for the right word. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

Jean can see how Armin’s face is somehow less confident. “You know you’re not gross.” Armin looks away from him. After an extended pause Jean continues. “Do you _not_ want the lights off?” He asks sort of dumb.

Armin opens and shuts his mouth as he tries to put meaning to the apprehension in his stomach. “I just - it just.” He pauses and collects his thoughts. “It feels like, maybe, you don’t want to look at me or something.”

Jean just stares. “You have to believe me. That is not the reason I want to turn out the lights.”

“Then what is it?”

“Well, for starters, my parents are home. If they see the light on -” He trails off letting Armin come to his own conclusion.

Armin nods to himself. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Jean hits the lights and crawls back onto the bed. Armin is beneath him, warm and pliable. He drags Armin’s thigh up over his hip and holds it there as he breathes out heavily through his nose. Armin is still a little tense, the mood has not fully returned to him. Jean kisses his neck and Armin mewls. “Not to mention if I had to see you like this I’d probably go crazy.”

“Oh lord.” Armin laughs at him. “You’re flirting just went from believable to over the top.”

“Oh? So you don’t like being over the top? I didn’t hear complaints when you were sitting on my lap?”

Armin slaps at Jean’s shoulders and Jean pulls him closer. “Stop. You’re such a flirt.” Armin laughs, trying to wiggle out of Jean’s embrace “I’m going home.” Jean nuzzles his face. “You need to shave!”

“No, Don’t go home,” Jean feeds off of Armin’s words. “I’m just trying to impress you.”

Armin sighs to himself and relaxes. Jean raises his head and they lock eyes. After a moment they kiss. Connecting again and again until their simple pecks dissolve into more. Armin opens Jean’s mouth, sliding his tongue across the seam of Jean’s lips and roaming gently over his pallett. He pulls away. “About earlier;” Armin pauses. “You don’t have to impress me.”

Armin runs his hands up and down Jean’s and searches his face. A little seriousness returns to his face but the mood is not lost. He’s willing to trust in Jean, yes, but it’s still the first time he’s ever been like this in bed with another person.

One hand finds Jean’s face and he runs his thumb over the chewed bottom lip. He feels Jean lean down and adjusts the angle of his face so he can ghost his mouth against Armin’s. Lips ajar, warm breath escaping them in deep pants. But their lips don’t lock; only tease. It’s slow the way Jean pushes his lips against Armin’s. It’s somehow far more intimate than it had been just a few moments ago.

Jean’s hand finds his hair and massages the blond roots as Armin leans back, angling himself deeper into the pillows. The bed dips under the weight of Jean adjusting so he’s more firmly over and pressed to the length of Armin’s body. Armin opens his mouth and invites him in with a gentle roll of his tongue. He can feel Jean’s chest against his as they descend into a slow languid rhythm of lips and barely there touches.

Then he feels anchored to the moment, there is only the moment. Not the future and especially not the past. Armin wraps his leg tighter over Jean’s hips and groans in the back of his throat as Jean takes that as permission to continue. Jean’s hand is warm as it trails up high on Armin’s hip and clenches at his soft upper thigh. Goosebumps erupt over his body and he moans.

Over him Jean stills as if Armin has opened the floodgate. In an instance everything is heated and moving so fast. They start yanking at one another’s clothes. Looking for new skin to touch and they want. They want so bad.

The door swings open and light spills in. It almost seems so cliche that for a brief moment Jean doesn’t even believe it’s real. But, then the light goes on and they pull away from each other. Standing in the doorway is Terry, red faced and exhausted. Jean bolts upright and scrambles off Armin practically shouting, “Dad!”

He stands in the middle of his room and Armin tries to make himself small behind him. They are both a mess, Jean with his rumpled shirt and tented pants, then Armin with his short leg pushed up over his hip providing little decency for his ass cheek.

Lira appears in the doorway behind Terry in a robe and bags under her eyes. She just stares, something like shock written across her face.

Terry folds his arms over his chest. “Jean, I think your guest should leave.”

“I’m so sor -” Armin starts only to have Jean hold out his arm in front of him.

He’s not sure why he chooses this moment to be defiant, but he does. “No. I don’t want him too.”

Terry rubs his eyes. “That may have sounded like a suggestion, Jean, but it wasn’t.”

“For godsake,” Jean argues. “Like you never looked the other way when Mikasa was sneaking out! I’m practically an adult for crying out loud.”

Terry snaps his eyes to him. “Do you really wanna do this? Right now? Adult? Since when are you a fucking adult Jean. Adults don’t sneak around behind their parents back so they can fuck around with the neighbor boy!”

“ _Dios mio,_ ” Lira breathes out. “Terry, you’re going to far.”

He can feel Armin shift uncomfortably behind him. “Is the issue that Armin’s a guy? Because you’re acting way differently than all the times you caught Eren and Mikasa sticking their tongues in each other’s mouths!”

His name freezes everything. His dad blinks and Lira, for a moment, looks physically ill. But, he doesn’t take it back. Armin tugs on his shirt from behind. “Jean, I’m just going to go.”

“Wait, Armin. No.” His face falls. He feels suddenly stupid when he looks at Armin’s frown. But there’s not much more he can say. Or that he would want to say.

Armin steps around him and holds Jean’s gaze. He’s not angry just concerned. “Jean, I’m not a bargaining piece for you to use.” He steps towards the door and Terry makes room, “Sorry. I’m leaving”

They all stand there, sillence spreading around them until the front door opens and closes. Lira sniffs like she’s trying not to cry. “Do you really think we’re like that? That we would love you,” she gasps and let’s out an uneven breath. “Think that we would love you different just because you like men?” She wipes at her eyes. “I’m going to bed.”

Terry stays in the doorway and takes a deep breath through his nose. “It’s late. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“You don’t want to talk about anything,” Jean mumbles. He know his dad hears him because he pauses before he continues.

Terry’s mouth opens and his face is soft, like he might actually try to talk to Jean like he use to. Then he sets his mouth in a straight line and pulls his eyebrows together. “Grow up Jean.” Terry goes to close the door and stops. “By the way Mikasa is coming to dinner tomorrow night. You will not to behave like this.”

The door latches shut and Jean picks up the nearest object, his tv remote. He hurls it at the wall as hot tears prick his eyes. Tomorrow night they are going to lie as a family, make Mikasa think they are who they use to be. His anger threatens to choke him, his vision blurs and his lungs expel oxygen as fast at they take it in. Then his phone goes off and it pulls him back. He finds it on his bed, like it’s fallen out of his pocket while they were fooling around.

It’s a snap from Armin. The picture is the top half of his face garishly lit by his camera flash with a text overlay that says, “powerbox.”

Jean cracks his door open and peeks into the dark hall. RC is in his usual place at the bottom of the stairs. He pops his head up a little to regard Jean and though there’s no real reason to do it Jean holds a finger to his lips to tell Rosencrantz to be quiet. He can see light under his parents door and his parents talking in hushed tones.

His mom sobs. “We lost him Terry. _Ellos dos.”_

He closes his door behind himself as he makes his way out. At the door he grabs his favorite sweater off one of the hooks. He jogs down the lawn and doesn’t stop. The pavement pounds under his feet as he runs in the direction of the nearest powerbow. His lungs start to burn and he imagines running for so long that his body physically melts into the pavement.

Armin comes into view. He’s sitting on the gray metal box with his knees pulled into his sweater. Jean comes to a stop in front of him and Armin regards him with and even, untelling gaze. “Hey,” he huffs.

“Hey.”

Jean takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

They stare at each other until Armin looks away. “I’m not angry. Just so you know. And I don’t want to fight about this. I know you’re going through some stuff so you probably weren’t thinking with the smart part of your brain. You can’t try to pass off your problems though.” He pushes some stray hair behind his ear. “I want to help you but I can’t be an excuse. Let’s just forget it.”

“Are you sure?”

Armin snorts. “Yeah. Remember you owe me from before, now you owe me a little more.”

Jean relaxes. “Okay.” He scratches his head. The moment of heat and sexuality has passed leaving them with awkward feelings and complex emotions. He looks anywhere but Armin’s face for a moment. “Hey, um, back there. Before my parents came in. Were we -” Jean stops short. This is such a stupid question. “Were you - Were we going to do more than kiss?” He finally blurts it out.

Armin blushes pink. He hides his face. “I don’t know.” After a moment, quietly, “Maybe.”

There’s not much more to say other than the obvious. “I’m going to miss you. And not just because of what happened. I would have wanted you here regardless,”

Slowly, Armin slides off the powerbox so he’s standing nearly chest to chest with Jean. “Me too.” He takes a breath. He takes Jean’s face in his hands and tugs him down for a kiss; earnest and sweet. “I should get home though.”

Jean’s hands wrap gently on Armin’s wrists. “Okay.”

The wind picks up as Armin pulls away and takes a step towards his house. “‘Min,” Jean calls after him. The blond turns around, his nose red from cold and eyes bright from something else. They meet halfway. “I, um, I just,” Jean looks to Armin’s sweater, it’s way too big for him. He hadn’t noticed before but the sweater hosts a faded graphic of the Queen logo on it’s front. Looking down at his own sweater, it’s a generic crimson sweater he got at Target for five dollars. It’s the one he was wearing when they first met, now that he thinks about it. “Let’s trade sweaters,” he says then looks up.

Armin feels suddenly disembodied; floating, calm, and nervous all at once. “Okay,” he tries to smile to cover up his embarrassment.

Jean goes first, pulling his hoodie up from the back of his neck and over his head. He hands it to Armin and presses his arms to his sides to try and maintain his body warmth. He watches as Armin bunches the sweater up in his hands and looks at it sort of fondly. “C’mon, ‘Min. It’s cold.”

“Right.” Armin turns his back to Jean. He’s wearing a shirt underneath but somehow the process of undressing in front of Jean while he watches him is a little uncomfortable. There is an attempt to push the thought away that doesn’t really work. Armin looks over his shoulder. “Turn around, or something. It’s embarrassing to know you’re watching.” He, for whatever reason, expects resistance towards what he said; but, Jean jumps back and forth on the balls of his feet until he’s facing the opposite direction.

“Not that I’m trying to be an asshole. But taking your sweater off is much less embarrassing than being caught by my parents.”

Armin disentangles himself from his sweater, “Yeah, that was exactly how I wanted that to happen.” He quickly tugs on the one Jean gave him. “Here,” he says when he’s done and Jean turns around the take the sweater.

Carefully, and with as much eye contact as possible, Jean pulls the sweater on. He can feel it’s age in the way the cotton is worn and almost rough against his skin.He swallows at the way Armin stares at him, shy and open all at once. So many contradictions in one boy. “You should probably get home.”

“Yeah,” Armin agrees. Neither of them move for a moment, then Armin turns on his heel. “Goodnight Jean,” he says over his shoulder and starts walking in the direction of his house. He can smell Jean in the sweater even as he lays down on the couch.

 

* * *

 

_eren had invited her over for dinner. she was seven and hadn’t understood what it really meant to have a family dinner but eren had insisted that she had to find out. so, she’d gone home from school with him and they played in his room after doing homework together at the kitchen table. eren had shared his planes and even let her be the red baron, whom his mom had said was a very good pilot._

_it had made her feel special and important._

_when they ate dinner together lira and terry asked both of the boys about their day and really listened when they were having a problem. then they asked her and kept asking her questions until she felt nearly talked out._

_lira handed out ice cream in cones for dessert and let them run around in the backyard until her parents came to get her._

_when mikasa left, for the first time, she knew what she was missing in her family. and she wanted it for herself. years later she would realize she had found it in eren._

 

* * *

 

Jean wakes up to the sound of his mother banging on his door. “ _iHijo!_ Get up! Mikasa is going to be here any minute!” His eyes don’t want to open, they want to close and return him to the emptiness. The endless white, the black void. He doesn’t really escape the emptiness when he’s awake, but lately it’s not always present either.

Reluctantly he rolls out of bed and looks at himself in the reflection of his tv. He knows he’s gained weight; not much but enough that he’s lost some definition in his stomach. He chalks this up to inactivity and poor diet the last few months. He almost feels motivated enough to run. Almost.

In the kitchen he can hear his mother laughing and it startles him away from his thoughts. Then he can also hear his father’s deep chuckle. The laughter is so misplaced in their usually quiet home and he’s not even sure it’s real at all until he hears them again. He doesn’t feel relief, not even surprise. Instead the thick dripping sensation of betrayal coats his insides.

His thoughts seem less rational as he gets dressed. He decides this dinner isn’t even worth a shower. The slamming of his drawers feels almost deliberate as he looks for his clothes. Jean decides on a black and white baseball tee and a pair of jeans. The doorbell rings and he takes that as his cue to make his appearance. Walking to the kitchen he can feel the way his jaw is set in a tight line. He wants them to see whatever it is he’s feeling even if he’s not entirely sure himself.

He reaches the end of the hall just as Mikasa steps into the house and everything he was just feeling melts away. Not because he’s overcome with some great sense of understanding and calm due to the pregnant girl standing in their living room but because he’s suddenly small and insignificant. His mother is smiling for the first time in months and his father beams with pride as he puts a rough hand to Mikasa’s stomach.

“Do you know if the baby’s a boy or a girl yet?” Terry asks, face red from happiness.

Mikasa holds her stomach. “I’m not sure I want to know yet.”

Lira kisses Mikasa’s cheek. “I made stuffed peppers. Your favorite!” She nudges Mikasa towards the kitchen and Mikasa smiles because she finally feels like she’s home after so many months of being lost. And that’s when she spots Jean. Standing at the end of hallway. Limbs so loose it looks as if he might fall apart like a marionnet. But it’s his face that makes her smile fall away. He wears a deep frown and his eyes look like they did at the funeral. He hasn’t healed. He hasn’t even begun to try. She wonders why it’s only now that she sees that. Even more she wonders why Terry and Lira don’t.

They sit at the table and Lira starts bringing in food. There are plates and plates of her favorite sides. Jean sneaks in and sits in his usual spot, shoulders slumped and empty eyes. She almost asks what’s wrong but then Terry is asking her about school and state and morning sickness. Mikasa explains that the morning sickness had been terrible and both parents chuckle a little fondly at the memories of Lira’s first pregnancy.

“But then there he was!” Lira looks to Jean and sighs as she grabs his hand that hasn’t even touched his fork. “My boy. _Mi hijo._ ”

“Stop.”

He says it so quietly that Mikasa thinks she’s the only one that hears him at first.

Lira continues, all smiles and twinkling eyes. “And I loved him immediately like nothing else. You think you love the human being inside you now? Wait until you see them.”

Jean shakes his hand free of his Mom’s and pushes back from the table. “Stop! Just fucking stop!”

The silence that falls over the room is still and unsettling. “This is such bullshit!”

“Jean,” Lira gasps.

Mikasa can tell Jean doesn’t know what he’s doing. He looks almost feral but also terrified of what he sees before him.

“What are you guys doing?” Jean pleads with his parents. “This,” he gestures to the table, to his parents. “It’s a fucking lie! You act like nothing’s wrong but where are all his pictures? Why haven’t you said his name?” He directs his frustration at his mother and the facade begins to fall apart.

Lira sobs and Terry stands up and sets his knuckles on the table. “This is unacceptable Jean.”

It doesn’t stop him. “Say his name mom! Say his fucking name!” He can’t be sure how many times he says it but suddenly his mother sobs broken and dirty. It mimics how he feels inside.

“Eren! Eren! Eren!” Her voice is shrill and her body shakes as she does. She cries, mouth open and snot running over her lips.

He looks to his father and Jean has never been so sure he’s about to get hit in his life. His parent’s never believed in corporal punishment but even he could justify it right now. But the hit doesn’t come and he can’t stop himself. “His name was Eren. And you both cared about him more than you ever cared about me. So don’t sit here and try to use me as the example of your undying love. Where have you guys been the last few months? I -” his voice breaks hard and fast over his words. “I needed you. He was my brother. And you suddenly get a piece of him, or what you _think_ is a piece of him, and you both come rushing back to reality. It’s not fucking fair. He’s dead and you still managed to choose him over me.”

He’s breathing heavy and the anger that he felt radiating from his father has turned into something closer to shame. The tension he feels inside himself hasn’t subsided and he doesn’t wait around for answers. Jean leaves the table, grabs shoes off the rack, and walks out the front door. He shoves his feet into his sneakers as he walks. Then he just keeps walking. The sun sets. The wind picks up and he’s still going.

By the time he’s starting to come back to himself it’s been hours. Behind him he hears the rumbling of an old truck and slows down. The truck comes to a stop on the side of the road and Mikasa gets out. They’re in a foreign part of the neighborhood outside a stranger’s house.

She stands back from him. “Jean,” Mikasa prompts.

He’s not sure what to say so he says something stupid. “Why does everybody love him more than me?”

Her mouth opens and closes like she doesn’t want to lie but like she also doesn’t want to tell the truth. “You’re different from him Jean. If it had,” she pauses like she’s considering whether or not to continue. “If it had been you and not Eren in the car that night the pain of losing you would have been felt just as deeply.”

Jean wants to believe her but it just seems like she’s trying to make him feel better. He doesn’t want her pity or a half ass _you’re good too._ Anger stirs in him and it makes him want to hurt her. “You know. The baby is probably mine.”

Mikasa looks like she’s been slapped when he looks up to her.

“I think you should get a paternity test.”

She crosses the distance between them and slaps him so hard his face turns. It stings but he doesn’t turn back to her. “Don’t _ever_ say that again. The baby is Eren’s. It doesn’t matter if biologically the baby might not be; the baby _is_ Eren’s. I know you’re hurting Jean. We all are and we _all_  need this baby to be Eren’s. Even you.”

She leaves him standing there after that and peels off in her truck.

 

* * *

 

_lira and myra had been pregnant at the same time. myra had conceived three months after lira but myra had gained weight so fast that nobody could tell. they’d only given birth two months apart though. partially because jean had refused to come out and partially because connie had refused to stay in._

_the boys had immediately been grouped together. two amigos that always huddled together on the playground. always managed to be in the same classes growing up. they had constantly supported each other._

_they were almost brothers. but then eren had died and connie had been forced to see the line that separated them from actually being brothers. it’d hurt but he couldn’t give up on jean as much as he may have wanted to._

 

* * *

 

 

It’s well after midnight when Jean stops in front of the squat one story home. The blinds are drawn and there’s a beware of dog sign posted on the gate to the backyard even though Jean knows that Ralphie died last May. Ralphie had also been a yorkie that cowered at the sight of the vacuum but that’s beside the point.

Jean opens the gate to the backyard and knocks on the first window. There’s no answer. He knocks again and the light turns on inside the room. Connie pulls at one of the blinds and Jean watches as his eyes widen in surprise. The blinds snap closed and Jean goes back to the front of the house just in time for Connie to open the door.

It feels natural the way they know not to speak because Connie’s mother sleeps like a feather in a tornado. Connie’s room is just as he remembers it. A gigantic mess. There’s coke cans lining the frame of his bed and paper plates on the night stand. He turns to face Connie and a fist connects with his shoulder.

“Ow. What the fuck, man?” Jean holds his shoulder indignantly.

Connie scoffs. “What the fuck, me? No. What the fuck, you?”

Jean gets defensive. Feels the way his shoulders tense but he’s too tired to sustain it. “Can I crash here tonight?” Jean asks rubbing his shoulder and letting himself deflate.

Connie sits on the edge of his bed and lets out a long slow breath. “Your mom is looking for you. She called me a few hours ago hoping you were here. Now she’s going to think I’m a liar.”

“She’s looking for me?”

Jean watches Connie bob his not-quite-bald head. “Your dad too.” He chuckles. “Apparently he didn’t believe your mom when she told him I had no clue where you were.” There’s a sudden silence that makes Jean shift uncomfortably. “I had to explain to them that we - you know. That we haven’t really been friends for the last couple months. And, I don’t know. I didn’t realize how fucked up things were for you until then.”

Jean lets his arms drop so they hang loose at his sides. “What do you mean?”

Connie reaches behind himself and throws a pillow at Jean as he get up to go to his closet. “I mean, like, as much as you bitched about your parents they always knew where you were. Leaving your house was always like playing twenty questions. They always knew who you were with and what you were doing with your time.” There’s a pause as Connie tugs free a fleece blanket from the top shelf of his closet. “Like, for your parents not to know where you went or being so oblivious they didn’t realize we haven’t been talking it just, like, put things in perspective. You’re family was always so... I don’t know. Together?”

Jean sits cross legged on Connie’s bed as he continues to search the closet. “Not anymore. It’s been... Fuck it’s been terrible man. Like you think I’m bad you should look at us as a family. One of them took down all his pictures. I’m not even sure which one did it but it’s like he never even existed Connie. They don’t want to talk about him and... and I did something horrible man. Not just one thing. A few things. Unforgivable things. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to look my parents in the face.”

Connie turns away from the closet and tosses the blanket to Jean. In his other hand is an inflatable pool toy. It’s what they’ve always used as a makeshift mattress. Jean hold out a hand and Connie waves him off. “I got it dude. Just tell me about these unspeakable acts.”

Connie sits opposite of him and starts blowing up the pool floaty. “I just. I guess I should start at the beginning.”

“That’s usually the best place.”

So, Jean takes a large breath and starts. He tells Connie about Andre’s party and how he was supposed to be driving. He tells him about coming out into the living room and learning his world had been turned upside down. He tells him about how he’d been feeling lost and alone and after losing Eren even more so. Jean even tells him about Mikasa and how they’d both been hurt and irrational and now there is this four month problem between them. He tells him about how nobody owns RC and how it makes him sad but also grateful because if he hadn’t had that argument with his dad he wouldn’t have met Armin. He tells Connie about Armin. He doesn’t skip the details. He doesn’t gloss over anything because if anybody is going to understand it’s Connie.

It’s three in the morning and Jean feels drained as he finishes telling Connie about dinner with Mikasa. He doesn’t paint it all as his parents fault he also can’t deny the way he made his mother cry and the way he’d made Mikasa snarl with disgust. And when he’s all done he looks to Connie with everything laid bare and open.

At first Connie looks anywhere but at Jean and then he finally looks up. “That’s some heavy shit man.”

Jean snorts. “Yeah, you’re telling me?”

Connie tosses the floaty to the ground. “Look. I’m sorry you’re going through all of this. Just, please don’t shut your freinds out. I could have been helping you deal with this bullshit the whole time.”

“It’s not like I meant to. It just.... It just happened.”

“Just how you happen to be gay? I mean I don’t know how I didn’t see that one coming.” Connie laughs. It’s the early morning and he’s a little delirious.

Jean smiles. “I mean I’m not _gay.”_

“Whatever man.” Connie kicks at Jean’s leg. “Let’s go to sleep. We’re both about to have our asses handed to us in the morning. So let’s at least try to get a few hours of sleep.”

Jean shuts off the lights and lays down on the pool floaty. He turns over and pulls the blanket high over his shoulders.

“One last question. Why the fuck didn’t you answer my text messages if you were on you’re way over here?”

He bolts up and checks his pockets. It’s only then that he realizes he’s left his phone at home. “I think I left my phone in my room.”

Connie snorts. “Convenient.”

They settle in and while Jean still doesn’t fall asleep with any sort of ease he feels himself slip under just before daybreak.

 

* * *

 

_jean was superman. eren remembered thinking this very clearly when he was five years old and jean has just turned six. he had thought it because jean had copied the older kids at the playground and jumped off the swing. to eren it has seemed that jean had gone a very far distance from where he started._

_jean was superman. and he had always thought it, right up until the end. the tire blew out on the driver’s side as they were coming over the narrow, one lane overpass. the driver was the brother of one or the linebackers; nice enough guy. he over corrected and his the barrier on the passenger side. the truck they were in was stacked so high that their vehicle’s center of gravity dragged them over the barrier. the truck flipped over itself, down the landscaped ravine. the airbags deployed, the cab of the truck caved in when it flipped right onto a boulder._

_the coroner had told the family that both passengers had died on impact. all things considered that was mostly true. eren had seconds of consciousness after the truck came to a stop. he hadn’t been in pain. his body had been too mangled and broken to feel anything. in the few moments he had before his death he knew he would die. he felt life leaving him and he thought of a few things._

_he had thought of his mom and how she would smooth his hair back from his forehead when he was upset._

_he thought of his father and how he’d taught him how to ride a bike by running behind him and holding the seat._

_he thought of mikasa and how they’d never build that life they talked about together._

_but he also thought of jean. he thought of superman. and he let go because he knew they would all be okay with his big brother there to shoulder the pain._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just kill me. This chapter was even harder to edit than the last one. There were additions to basically every scene. Initally the bedroom scene has been a lot more angsty. But I decided that it was important to sho how much Armin is willing to grown around Jean. Also I think it's funny that Armin's parents being in town and him being so happy about that is the reason he's able to be brave and go to Jean's house. So thank you Richard and Clara for helping your son almost bang!
> 
> The chapter title comes from a song by HELLOGOODBYE - [Here In Your Arms](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LSAECj0GXWQ). It was hard to choose a song this time because I wasn't sure if I wanted the chapter title to relate more to the fluff or angst of this chapter. But I mean. I want Jean and Armin to be happy too.... I swear.
> 
> At this point in the story I'm trying to redeem Terry. I know somebody out there is sympathetic to him. It can't just be me. Like I keep saying. Jean is just as much of a problem as Terry is.
> 
> Okay, yeah. I don't have much more to say other than see you soon.
> 
> Please comment, I will respond. That's my thing now. 
> 
> Also, check out this [bad boy.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mindlessadri/works) It's my archive.
> 
> Oh! Last thing! I'm on [Tumblr](http://cunttwatula.tumblr.com/)  
> now. I was for a long time but was inactive for a few months.


	9. Ten Thousand Feet Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Could you make this any easier for me?_   
>  _I can barely sleep_   
>  _Could you meet me somewhere in between?_   
>  _I swear that I'd give anything_   
>  _Spare me your judgement_   
>  _I know I'm corrupted, I know_   
>  _For years, I've been climbing this mountain_   
>  _And I'm still ten thousand feet below_
> 
>  
> 
> It's time for more suffering. But also dicks. Actual dicks in this chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! So it's been like a month. How is everybody?  
> So this chapter didn't go through much editing but for WEEKS it just wasn't sitting right with me and I couldn't figure out why. Then it hit me today just as I was getting ready to post anyway! I'm so happy now. The chapter FEELS right.
> 
> Either way. I'm so sorry for the delay!

Jean is only woken by the smell of chorizo cooking in the kitchen. He looks at the alarm clock on Connie’s night stand. It’s ten thirty-two in the morning. Connie’s already up and he can hear him in the kitchen arguing with his mom. 

Myra has always had a rough voice but it’s even more so when any of her kids talk back to her. “ _ ¿Perdon? _ ” She challenges Connie.

“ _ Mamá, no mintió a propósito. Acaba de llegar. ¿Qué debería haber hecho? _ ” He can hear the way Connie is pleading for him. 

He exits the room and makes his way to the kitchen. “ _ Hola _ .” He waves a little to Myra who frowns even as he comes up to her and plants a kiss on her head. “Smells good.”

Myra hits him with her spatula and he’s reminded of how violent Connie’s family is. “I’m sorry.”

“Mmmhmm. Sit. The girls ate before going to school. Somebody -” she turns to Connie. “Refused to get up this morning.” Myra turns to Jean. “I wonder why?”

They sit at the island counter, Jean is still rubbing out the sting from Myra’s spatula. “I forgot it’s the middle of the week. Sorry.”

Connie just shakes his head to tell Jean not to worry. 

“Call your mother.” Myra says in an even tone as she sets tortillas on the pan. He

Jean doesn’t groan just goes to the living room where they keep the house phone. He dials his mom and hopes that she’s in the middle of class. Anything to stop the inevitable reaming he’s about to receive. The dial tones seems more drawn out than usual and his stomach dances between cold and sinking as he waits. Then the phone picks up. “ _ Bueno.” _

Lira sounds rushed. For a moment all Jean can think about is one specific moment when he was seven and sick. She’d brought him breakfast in bed. “Hi, mom,” he croaks. His voice sounds weaker than he had expected it to. He can hear her gasp through the phone. 

“Oh god. Jean.” She stops there and he doesn’t respond. He wonders if this is as awkward for her as it is for him. She sniffles. “Are you -” Lira searches for the right words. “Are you safe?”

“Yeah mom. I’m at Connie’s.”

“He said he didn’t know where you were.”

“I wasn’t with him when you called.”

There’s another pause but it’s not silent. He can hear how she shifts on the other side of the phone. “We looked for you last night after we sent Mikasa home.” When Jean doesn’t respond she rambles. “I was so worried Jean.  _ We _ were worried. Neither of us had ever seen you like that. So, so  _ broken hijo.  _ And I just - we just-” Lira hiccups on the other end of the phone. “Is it our fault? Did we fail you  _ amorcito? _ ”

Jean’s face falls and tears sting his eyes. “Mom - I just. I’m just -” He takes a deep breath and opts for something like honesty. “I miss Eren. You know? And I - I miss you guys too.” He can’t contain the tears as he gasps

Lira dissolves into sniffles on her side of the conversation. “ _ Yo sé. Yo sé hijo. Lo siento mi amor.  _ I’m here for you now. Me and your father and we love you very much.”

He wipes as his eyes ineffectively. He can hardly believe he has tears left to cry.“I love you guys, too.” He means it deep down; past the anger and the hurt.

“Please come home soon  _ niño. _ ”

They hang up and for the first time since Eren’s died he feels like he can see the shore, guiding him home.

 

* * *

 

_ richard held no fallacy.  _

_ armin sat across the dinner table from him in louisiana. his mother had tried a new dish given to her by a native creole. not bad. but it would haunt for about a half hour in the bathroom later that night.  _

_ armin’s phone went off and clara reached for it. no doubt out of some playful mothering instinct. but armin was quicker. he smoothly snatched the phone and hid it under the table as he checked the text message.  _

_ richard watched as armin’s face lit up. lip bitten and eyes narrowed mischievously.  _

_ “who’s that sweetheart?” clara asked, biting into a charred slice of sausage. _

_ armin looked up. “oh, um, a friend.” _

_ “ah,” clara responded with a pointed smile at richard. “what’s their name?” _

_ “oliver.” _

_ “mmm.” clara smiled around her food.  _

_ armin looked panicked. “may I be excused.” _

_ “sure sweetheart.” _

_ armin practically bolted. clara laughed as soon as he was out of earshot. “he’s seeing a girl.” _

_ richard rolled his eyes at her antics. “i wouldn’t be so sure.” _

 

* * *

 

Armin fiddles with his phone as his parents make idle conversation on their side of the booth. They’ve stopped for breakfast at Waffle House and are now waiting for the waitress to come back with their food. He pours himself another cup of coffee and stares at the dark contents abysmally.

He feels the overwhelming desire to crawl in a ball and die and has felt this way since the second day of their trip. His mom keeps asking if he’s having a good time, which he is and he answers as much. However, the fact he hasn’t talked to Jean in twelve days is irritating. He’d called the first night he was away and left a message. He’d texted the next morning. He’d sent a few different snaps all of which have gone unread. He can’t help but feel that he’s fucked something up somehow. 

Lost in thought he stirs his coffee until their food comes. It’s only then that he snaps himself back to reality. His mother is scrolling idly through her phone, a mouthful of hash brown on her fork as she chews her first bite of pancake. 

Across the table he notices his father staring at him and sits up straighter. He continues to stare and Armin shifts uncomfortably. He tries looking anywhere but his father. He ultimately ends up staring right at him. They don’t break eye contact even as his father bites into a meaty slice of bacon.

“Armin.” His father addresses him calmly. “Something the matter?”

He shrugs. “Just tired I guess.”

“You been taking your sleep meds?”

Armin doesn’t say anything but his mother is suddenly attentive. “Armin, sweetheart, are you telling me that you haven’t been sleeping this whole time? That’s not healthy, baby.” Armin flinches internally. “I mean ‘darling.’”

“I just don’t like them.”

Clara’s phone beeps and they all glance at it. Whatever miniscule mounting tension there was dissipates. “Crud, my phone’s dying. I’m going to go out to the car for the charger.” She leans over and kisses Richard on the cheek and grabs his chin. “You need to shave. It’s like kissing a brillo pad.” She kisses him again and exits her side of the booth thereby leaving the two of them alone. 

Richard sighs and scratches at the fine hair on the back of his neck. “Goddammit kid,” Richard says after a tense moment. “You’re mother is always telling me I need to work on my communication with you but I never thought I was gunna - jeez.”

He can feel the way his eyebrows tug together. “Dad, what’s wrong? Are you and mom okay?”

“You’re mother and me are fine,” Richard responds with a wave of his hand. “Look. I don’t know how else to say this but are you seeing.....  _ someone?” _

Armin pales. “No,” he says too quickly. 

He watches his father sigh loudly. Manly. “Are you sure? Because you’re almost an adult and you could date _ whoever _ you want. And me and your mom - we’re not going to be  _ mad  _ or anything. Just so long as who you’re dating doesn’t hurt you.”

The lump in his throat is hard to swallow but somehow he manages. His mind works a million miles a minute to try and comprehend how his father could possibly know while yet another part of himself screams that there is absolutely no way his father knows. Part of him feels he should be thankful and jumping at the opportunity to get his sexuality out in the open but he’s not ready to say it. He’s never said it out loud; just thought it very quietly in his head. 

He can’t help but wonder why his dad would bring this up now. He’d been so careful about hiding it. His voice has been pushed down an octave ever since his parents arrived and he has been sticking to a basic jean and shirt combo for most of the trip. More surprising than the question though is that he finds himself answering. “I, uh, I have a  _ friend  _ and I’m just annoyed with him because we talk a lot and I haven’t heard from him this whole trip.”

Richard sits up, surprised like he hadn’t expected Armin to actually tell him anything - even though Armin really hasn’t. “Well, um,  _ son,  _ sometimes people just - uh, boys just - they’re, I mean  _ we’re  _ assholes and -”

Clara drops herself into the booth and Richard visibly relaxes, “Thank god.”

Armin takes a good look at his mother’s face. She looks like she just scored a good piece of terrible gossip though Armin’s not sure who’s life she could be so invested in when they know zero people in a hundred mile radius.

“You won’t believe what I just saw on Facebook.”

Richard rolls his eyes and partly wishes that Armin had never showed his mother social media. “I told you Clara we can’t donate to every injured child and dog. It’s just not possible.”

Clara shoves him a little. “No this is about somebody we actually know.” When neither of the men at her table show much interest she continues. “Ella’s in the hospital.”

Armin feels his arms tense. 

“Armin’s cello teacher?”

Clara nods. “I mean I guess she has been sick for a while but I didn’t even think to look her up on Facebook until I knew we were going to be driving through the Phoenix area. They moved her to a hospice. She has extremely aggressive cancer. That’s what Facebook says, at least.”

He feels sick, not in his stomach, in his blood. Icy and death like gripping at his veins and yet there is a strange calmness that settles over him. This isn’t his life and he didn’t just hear that. 

“Well that’s not something you hear everyday,” Richard comments.

Clara sweeps her hair up in a ponytail. “I think we should try to visit her. I’m sure Armin would like that.” She wiggles her eyebrows at him.

Armin shakes his head. “I don’t want to.”

“Darling, you could say goodbye. She was your first -”

“Mom,” Armin says firmly but he can feel the way his lip trembles. “She wasn’t anything to me.”

Clara recoils and tucks herself next to Richard. He leans down and whispers something to her that makes her look less put off. “Well, I guess we’ll just stick to our original plans for Phoenix then.”

They leave it at that. Armin wasn’t looking forward to home since Jean had been so unresponsive but he’d give anything to crawl into his bed right now and dissolve into his mattress. 

 

* * *

 

_ terry looked at lira over the pennysaver ad she’d shoved in his face. it was late, nearly ten. “absolutely not.” _

_ “yes.” _

_ terry put his reading glasses on the bedside table, immediately decided that was a bad idea when he looked back to the text and had to put them on again. “no.” _

_ “ _ sí _ ” _

_ terry rolled his head. “lira, he has a c in history. we can’t reward him with something like this.” _

_ she sat next to her husband and put her hand on his thigh. “he’s sixteen. we should try to make that special.” _

_ “and what about when eren turns sixteen? are we just going to rush out and buy him a car too?” _

_ “maybe. his birthday is close to christmas.” _

_ terry looked back down at the penny saver. the car that lira had circled was not practical. it was something that was going to make their insurance sky rocket when they learned they had every intention of letting their teenage son drive it. it was a 2000 pontiac firebird. terry sighed, “did you have to pick a two-door?” _

_ “jean will like it, ¿no?” _

_ “yes,” he said as lira straddled his lap and threw the pennysaver off the side of their bed. “but since when are responsible adults supposed to let sixteen year olds make these decisions?” _

_ lira ground her pelvis into his lower belly. “when’s the last time we’ve done something this nice for jean? he deserves it and we never get him good gifts. you two could fix it up together.” _

_ “fine. but when we get eren a car i’m going to pick it out and it’s going to be sensible.” _

 

* * *

 

It’s Saturday night and Jean is basically risking life and limb to sneak out of his house. His parents are coming back to reality, very slowly but surely. When he finally came home from Connie’s nearly two weeks ago he’d found his phone had been confiscated as a form of punishment. He is also very, very grounded. It’d been annoying but at the same time it was comforting to be punished in such a familiar way. 

When him or Eren use to get grounded they would transfer their number to an old phone they use to have. It was a slider phone that didn’t even have a touch screen but it worked for texting which is mostly what they wanted to do anyway. Their parents were none the wiser. Eren had been the last one to use the phone though and Jean had no idea where it was and he still wasn’t ready to go up to Eren’s room.

Very briefly it crosses his mind that if he just waits one more day he’ll have all his privileges back; but he hasn’t seen or talked to Armin in way too long and the extra week it would give him would be worth it just to let Armin know that he hasn’t been ignoring him. 

Jean sits on their bench at the park and waits. Without a phone or good book recommendation the time passes slowly. Armin doesn’t show for what seems like hours so Jean goes home wondering if he’s misremembered the date Armin said he’d be returning. 

Sighing he relents himself to trying to sleep. Lately he’s been successful when he tries. Some days he almost has a normal sleep schedule and that scares him. He’s moving on and he’s not sure what that means. He still feels the guilt deep in his bones but it’s deflated in him to a dull pain as opposed to a searing reminder. 

When he wakes up in the morning he goes to the kitchen. His dad is standing at the counter plugging in their scarcely used waffle maker. Jean sits at the table and Terry glances at him over his shoulder. The moment is tense but only because there is a thick sense of awkward in the air between them.

Terry starts the conversation. “What do you want in the waffles?”

Jean sits up straighter. “Oh, um. What to we have?”

His father looks in the cabinets, “Walnuts. Pecans. Chocolate chips.” He turns to the freezer. “As for frozen fruit we have blueberries and... well that’s it.”

“Blueberries.”

Terry pulls the bag out and tosses it on the counter next to the waffle batter. He mixes in the fruit and pours the first waffle; he set his fists on the counter as he waits for it to cook. “Me and your mom - we tried a therapy session last Friday. It was your mother’s idea. Lord knows it wasn’t mine,” he says mostly to himself.

“You know - we’re not perfect. You  _ know  _ we aren’t perfect, Jean. We’re a little broken right now. I guess neither of us realized we needed to be fixed. And, we, uh, we haven’t been dealing with-” His father pauses takes a shaky breath “With Eren’s  _ death  _ in a good way. We haven’t really dealt with it at all and that’s what Melissa, she’s the grief counselor we saw, made us realize. We’re seeing her again tomorrow and she thinks you should come with us.” Terry turns to Jean. “We, your mother and I, we would like you to come with  _ us _ .”

Jean thinks about how he made his mother cry when everything boiled over. It’s likely to happen again. The tension he feels disappears when RC comes in from outside and curls up under the table. With a new resolves he replies. “What if I say things you guys don’t like?”

“You’d have your own session with her then we’d have a family session.” His dad takes the waffle out and sets it on a plate. “At least I  _ think  _ that’s how it would work out.”

He twiddles his thumbs, like he use to do when he was a child. “Okay. I guess.” His father hums in response. Jean feels like he’s grasping at straws, trying to find leverage to pull himself out of the sludge and then pull the sludge from his lungs. 

It’s sad to only realize it now but he’s missed his dad. The dad he use to have before Eren was gone. He missed his mom for that matter. The mom that made dinner and made him clean his room. The father that gave him his first beer when they lost state his sophomore year and set advil on his nightstand the first time he drank too much.

Maybe it hasn’t all been their fault, he thinks as Terry unplugs the waffle maker and Lira walks into the kitchen. His dad hands her his cup of coffee. Lira takes a sip and scrunches her face up. “It’s been almost twenty years since I’ve met you. A day has not gone by that you have not handed me your coffee in the morning. You’d think I’d learn not to take it.”

Terry kisses her cheek. “Maybe one day. But not today.”

“Waffles?” Lira looks at the counter. “Sundays were always for pancakes.”

“We need a new normal.” Terry looks to Jean. “All of us.”

Under the table, RC’s table thumps against the ground.

 

* * *

 

_ lira peered down at jean. he was still sleeping in his bed. she never had understood why he slept with his head under his pillow. it always made her laugh. it was his birthday. terry was already in the kitchen making jean pancakes a la mode - it was the only time of year any of them got it. and only the birthday person got to eat it. part of the enjoyment was watching everyone else suffer.  _

_ she lifted his pillow and slapped his cheek gently. “wake up  _ niño. _ ” _

_ jean cracked an eye. “go away.” _

_ “ _ es su cumpleaño, amorcito _.”  _

_ he sighed, “fine. go away so i can get dressed.” _

_ lira skipped down the hall. “he’s getting up!”  _

_ “okay, well calm down or he’ll know something's up.” _

_ “what’s so exciting?” eren dragged himself to the table, rc trailing behind him, and set his head in his arms as if the light was a personal affront to his eyes. _

_ “it’s jean’s birthday,  _ hijo.  _ we’re just excited about his present.” _

_ eren snorted. “what d'ya get him? a car?” he smiled to himself like his joke was funnier than it was. when his parents said nothing he looked up. “oh. my. god. you guys did! you got him a car! that’s - that’s totally unfair! i got a new bike and a video game for my birthday.” _

_ terry hated when eren was like this. “yeah, well, since we cut back on your birthday we were able to afford jean’s car.” _

_ eren frowned and crossed his arms.  _

_ “eren, you’re not even old enough to drive.” lira sighed. _

_ just then jean entered the room. “okay. let’s get this over with. where are the pancakes?” he sat at the table. “also, i want to go to dinner at the italian place on the hill and we can bring connie as my plus one and sasha as his plus one. mikasa can come too but i want to have a separate table for us- me, connie, sasha, mikasa and eren, i guess; you guys go eat at the bar or something.” _

_ lira and terry exchanged glances. “aren’t you at least a little excited? you’re sixteen.” _

_ jean was about to be snippy, he wasn’t very into his birthday because it was always a let down. then he caught his dad’s eye and sighed. “well, it’s not like you got me a car.” _

_ the house got suddenly quiet. “right? you guys didn’t get me a car.” he looked between his parents. “oh my god.” jean bolted out of his seat and his mom’s face broke into a smile. she reached into her back pocket and pulled out the key. he hugged her then snatched the keys out of her hand.  _

_ he went to make for the door when terry’s voice broke through, “hey.” when jean looked at him he raised his eyebrows.  _

_ jean turned back and hugged his dad. “i love you guys.” _

_ terry smoothed jean’s hair back roughly and hugged him a little too tightly. there was no telling how much longer he was going to be able to that, and he knew it. “we love you too kid. now give your mom another hug.” he shoved jean’s head away towards his mom. _

_ he hugged her again and kissed her cheek. “ _ gracias,  _ mom.  _ te amo. _ ” _

_ she grabbed his face in her hands and kissed his face. “ _ te amo, hijo. te amo.”  _ she wiped her eyes.  _

_ “can i go see it now?” _

_ she nodded. “go. go.” _

_ jean rushed out of the room.  _

_ “i can’t believe you got him a car.” _

_ “shut up, eren.” they turned to look at each other at laughed at how they’d scolded him at the same time.  _

_ lira walked over and pressed herself into terry’s chest. “we did good.” _

_ “damn straight.” they kissed. lightly at first and then with an alarming display of tongue.  _

_ “ew. gross. i’m going back to bed.” eren excused himself and left. they both laughed again. _

 

* * *

 

Armin hasn’t moved from his bed in days. He’s past his usual sense of dread and shame and has entered a whole new beast. Numbness. Even in his wakeful periods he doesn’t have thoughts just the overwhelming sense that _ something  _ is wrong. 

He wants to feel again. So badly. 

His phone hasn’t gone off since yesterday. He knows all the messages he’s gotten are from Jean but he just can’t face him right now. Jean feels a million miles away. The night they shared before he left even farther. 

He’s incapable of putting on his facade. Even if part of him does want to see Jean. 

The front door closes and Armin finally leaves his room. He goes through the motions of showering and eating. It makes him feel more human. But he needs more. He needs a distraction.

With the faintest hesitation he eyes his grandfather’s liquor cabinet. He’s only had a beer once in his life. He’d frowned every time he sipped it so there’s no telling where the desire to drink comes from. 

Armin pours three fingers of vodka in a glass then fills the rest with soda. He reasons that should be enough to get him where ever it is he’s trying to go and puts the bottle back. The light reflects off the glass and turns his fingers orange. Without much ceremony he tilts his head back and drinks. When he’s done he slams the glass down on the counter and retches. Nothing come back up.

It takes a few minutes but then he feels the alcohol. If he were a balloon it would be the air inside. Filling him up and bringing him to his full potential. He’s felt better than he has since the diner and while he knows it’s all false he clings to this hope tightly

He goes back to his room, giddy. He gets dressed because he has to do something. Alcohol isn’t the distraction he was looking for. He chews his bottom lip as he tries to think of his next move. Then he spots his phone.

 

* * *

 

_ it was only the first week of school and eren was already regretting his decision to take a videography class. he had been under the impression that they were going to watch a bunch of movies and bull shit reports on them when he had initially signed up.  _

_ the instructor had other plans. the guys name was mr. fields but he insisted everyone call him dan. eren would have bet that he was the type that went to art school, the guy had the whole starving artist look going for him. either way, he went to art school and expected to be the next hollywood super director but somehow ended up teaching his passion to a bunch of dispassionate little shits.  _

_ “okay,” dan said wheeling a cart into the room with five camcorders, the class was small. he began distributing them. “your first film project this year will be a documentary about your family. anything goes.” _

_ a girl in the back raised her hand, “dan what does that mean? aren’t you going to give us a rubric or something?” _

_ “the only requirement is that it be at least ten minutes long. you can use old family home movies if you want. narration is allowed. what you want to show about your family is completely up to you.” _

_ eren turned the zippered up camcorder over in his hand and didn’t even try to hide his lack of excitement. _

 

* * *

 

It’s Tuesday night when Armin finally returns his twenty text messages. Jean is aware of how desperate he looks but can’t even bring himself to stop.

_ lets meet at the park,  _ it reads in all lowercase letters. No smiley faces, no punctuation. 

Jean gets dressed quickly and sneaks out the front door. It’s nearly eleven. Worry stretches through him like an elastic rubber band just before it snaps. He wonders why it’s taken Armin so long to reply but also wonders if he’s fucked up. 

He gets to the park first and sits on the playground. He waits for nearly twenty minutes before he pulls out his phone and notices a snap that his phone hadn’t alerted him about. It’s of him standing in the entrance to the park. It dawns on him that Armin had been behind him and if he wasn’t so infatuated with Armin he’d probably think that was creepy. 

There’s a snap that follows that. It’s of the black path and Armin’s shoes as he walks. “Little creepy out here by myself Jean,” he can hear Armin say as he stumbles in the video, just slightly rushed. Something hits him like a freight train. He’s missed Armin so much. The way his voice sounds seems surreal and foreign; he hates it. 

There’s no telling by either snap which way he was heading but then the next one loads. it’s a picture of the rec center at the south end of the path. Jean practically bolts. He’s suddenly not nervous just wanting. He wants to see Armin, to hold him, he feels more prepared to do whatever it was they had been doing with each other before Armin left. He’s finally starting to feel human and he needs to share that with Armin. 

He gets to the rec center, just slightly winded. He checks his phone and sure enough there’s another snapchat notification. He opens it and it’s a picture of the competition pool located behind the rec center. He walks over and his face breaks into a grin when he sees Armin leaning against the door.

Armin smiles and raises his hand, shyly, in greeting. He’s fine. He’s never been more fine. He keeps telling himself this and thinks he’ll start believing it. Jean stops short in front of him and he pushes off the wall. There’s a three foot gap between them, charged by building hormones. “Hey,” Armin says as if that really says much of anything. His cheeks feel warm. 

He watches an easy smile come across Jean’s face. “Hey. Um, before we say anything else I just need you to know I’ve been grounded since you left. I just got my phone back Sunday.”

“Oh. I guess that would explain it.” Armin digs his toe into the hard desert earth, dusting the front of his boot chalk red. 

“So what are we doing here?” Jean asks as he looks up at the building and remembers that him, Eren, Mikasa, and Connie had shot off some leftover fireworks from the Fourth from the roof a few years ago. They’d gotten caught by Terry and Connie’s stepfather. The proceeding punishment hadn’t been worth the effort. 

Jean watches as Armin’s smile turns just a little mischievous. Armin turns on his heel and rolls his head, signaling Jean to follow him. He can’t pinpoint what is off with the situation but he can hardly be inclined to care due to his raging testosterone. 

They go to the back where the parking lot meets the top fourth of the building. Armin squats at the window hidden most by the shadows and starts fiddling with the lock. 

“This is illegal,” Jean snorts. He’s not sure if he’s more concerned or turned on. Probably both.

Armin looks up at him after the window pops open. “Only if we get caught.” He tosses his backpack inside and catches Jean’s eyes just before following after it. 

He takes a moment to look around, the parking lot is empty. A cool breeze blows across the landscape and it crosses his mind that the days will soon be much warmer than it is right now. Jean follows after Armin. 

The pool glows an ethereal aqua. He scans the room for Armin, finds him shoving a dollar into one of the vending machines to his left. A moment later he walks over to Jean and sits on the edge of a nearby lounge chair. Jean joins him and Armin passes him the coke bottle he just bought. He takes a swig. “So, how was your trip with your parents?”

“Really great. Might have been better if I hadn’t spent the whole time thinking about you.” Armin snatches the bottle back from Jean and takes a large gulp. He’s so thirsty and his words are brave. He wipes his mouth when he’s done. 

“I’m really sorry ‘Min.” Jean licks his lips. “I - I missed you.” He laughs a little uncomfortably. “Is that weird?”

Armin shakes his head. “No.” He takes a second, caps the bottle. “I missed you, too.”

Jean glances away, smiles to himself and turns back to Armin. “Did your parent’s make it home safe?”

“Yeah. They’re exhausted. Did you get grounded because of me?”

Jean sighs, shakes his head. “No, I got grounded because of me.”

“What did you do?”

Another sigh, another confession. Jean idly wonders how much of that he has left to do. He spares no details as he relives the dinner his parents had put together and by the end Armin is staring at him with a scrunched up concerned face. “Are you okay?”

“I was a dick and you’re asking me if  _ I’m  _ okay?”

“Well, yeah.”

He laughs a little. “Yeah I’m fine. So, what are we doing here?”

Armin shrugs a bit. “I thought we’d swim?” Admittedly it had been a better idea in his room.

“No towels.” Jean says and Armin just pats his backpack. He’s suddenly excited; his stomach does anticipatory flips as he stands. “Well let’s do it.” Jean takes of his shirt. It’s partially on purpose how he tightens his stomach, flexes his arms. He thinks he’s winning some sort of non communal competition but when he turns to Armin and sees him staring openly at Jean’s exposed chest with a tiny smile on his face Jean knows he’s lost. “Well? Come on.”

Armin grins as he stands; starts with his boots, he tugs them off as he hops around trying to maintain his balance. The thoughts are at bay, fueled by just a little liquid courage. Jean doesn’t have to know, or so Armin reasons. 

He undoes his pants and pulls them down leaving him in his black boxers and shirt. Jean’s stopped with his belt undone and fly open to take off his shoes and Armin has half a mind to push him into the pool since he’s standing so close to the edge. It wasn’t a lie when he said he’d missed Jean. Everything just seems to be weighing him down and he can’t feel much of anything. Still, he knows what he wants; his goal hasn’t changed. Maybe he’s using Jean and maybe Jean doesn’t deserve that but so long as he never finds out, so long as Armin can fix himself before Jean realizes anything is wrong it should be okay.

Armin takes a calming breath and yanks his shirt over his head in one quick motion. He looks to Jean, puts a smile on his face, “You’re falling behind.” He walks past Jean and stands on the edge of the pool. He dips a toe in the water and is pleased to find the pool is heated. Briefly, he regrets not pushing Jean in. His thought is cut short when behind him he hears feet slapping against the floor in a slow run. He turns to look over his shoulder just in time for his eyes to go wide and then Jean is tackling him into the deep end of the pool.

Armin’s shoulder breaks the water first followed by the rest of his body then Jean, who releases him just as soon as they’ve brushed the bottom of the pool. Then there’s an explosion of bubbles because Jean’s laughing way too hard about this but Armin can’t help but follow suite. 

They break the surface of the water gasping for air and smiles across their faces. Both of them let out breathless giggles until they’ve finally regained their senses then they’re staring at each other. Jean’s smile drops away first into something more contemplative and lustful. He can feel his heart thump against his rib cage and wonders if Armin feels similar or if he’s experiencing all of this alone. But, then Armin’s face changes. His eyes become softer and his bottom lip relaxes as his mouth into a loose smirk.

The miniscule distance between them feels electric. Armin’s stomach threatens to fly out of his abdomen and hide in a dark corner when Jean steps forward. Once, then twice. 

Water drips off the tip of his nose when Jean puts his hand in his hair. He tilts Armin’s face up, runs his thumb across his bottom lip and Armin’s breath catches in his throat. His eyes slide close as Jean moves to slot their mouths together. Jean’s lips bring a pleasant warmth to his. They kiss slowly in the middle of the pool with Armin’s hands on Jean’s wrists and Jean’s hands on either side of Armin’s face. He feels Jean slide his tongue against the seam of his mouth and he smiles. He feels it, he feels something in his chest, warm and fragile. 

Armin breaks away, takes a step back and uses his hand to splash Jean who looks dumbstruck by Armin leaving his immediate proximity. 

Jean lurches away from the water just a moment too late. He can feel water dripping off his hair. “Oh,” he smiles despite himself. “You are going to get it.” He lunges towards Armin who avoids him with a little too much ease. 

They continue like that for a while. Chasing each other around the pool. Catching each other in corners and kissing then skirting away with playful intentions. Sometimes they stop and lean against the side of the pool and just talk. Armin tells Jean about his vacation with his parents and how they’re just as gross and loving as they’ve always been. He mentions all the little towns his mom made them stop in and explore in the name of ‘adventure.’ Jean laughs as Armin recounts how his mom had insisted on stopping to walk in a river off the side of the road only to fall in when his father nudged her too close to the edge. 

Jean doesn’t have much to say. He’s been grounded for the last two weeks. Most of that time he spent in his room avoiding his parents. The atmosphere during that time had still been tense but it was much more sad than anything. Conversing with his parents is still slow coming and requires a great deal of effort. He does, however, mention how they are all attending therapy and his parents are actually trying to be more like his parents again. There’s no denying his role in his family’s turmoil so he tells Armin he’s trying to do better as well. As he does this Armin gently peppers kisses over Jean’s neck because kissing is still the main focus of what they’re doing. 

It’s not until their skin is starting to prune does Armin dunk Jean under the water and swim to the stairs at the far end as quickly as possible. Jean’s right on his heels and he briefly recalls Jean at one point mentioning he use to be an athlete. He scrambles out of the pool. “Time out! Time out!” He squeals when Jean catches him by the waist. 

“What?! There’s no such thing as time outs in war, ‘Min.” Suddenly he plops down, landing on a poolside recliner with Armin in his lap. “See? You’ve been captured by the enemy.” He smiles against Armin’s back.

Armin squirms as he tries to get out of Jean’s grasp but stops when Jean kisses the top of his spine. “You’re not a very convincing enemy.”

He can feel Jean’s breath warm and heavy against his cold skin, it makes his arms goose. Jean’s fingers move slowly against the front of his stomach, waiting for a sign to continue. “Maybe you’re just a very convincing prisoner,” Jean laments against his ear.

It hard to breathe past the knot in his stomach but Armin does and takes Jean’s left hand in his own. He raises it to his mouth and puts his lips to the skin of Jean’s wrist. Jean grunts and pushes his hand between Armin’s leg to grab at his inner thigh, roughly.

Armin chances a glance over his shoulder and catches Jean’s gaze; golden and lustful but steady. Not breaking eye contact he feels Jean shift backward until he can move Armin off his lap and onto the chair. Jean gets up just as Armin rests his weight against the back of the chair. “What are you doing?” He asks as hs runs his hands over the warm spots Jean left on his skin.

“Adjusting the seat,” Jean says as he brings the back down. Armin comes with it. His feet fly into the air momentarily and he gasps. They stare comically at each other a moment then Armin’s laughing.

“God, that scared me. Suddenly I was falling.” 

Jean leans over the side of the chair and kisses Armin upside down. “I think I know the feeling.” He rounds the side and squeezes onto the chair with Armin. They kiss. “Your lips are cold,” he says when the kiss breaks.

“Your’s are too,” Armin smiles, eyes shut and mouth waiting. 

He presses his mouth back to Armin’s, softly. Armin’s jaw goes slack after a moment, inviting Jean to further the kiss. His tongue pushes in, licks slowly over Armin’s before he pulls back. 

“Stop,” Armin breathes and Jean stops touching him all together. Armin  opens his eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?” 

A snicker, “I mean stop being careful with me.”

It’s instinct that drives Jean after that. He kisses Armin, tongue and all, as furiously as he can. His nails drag down Armin’s outer thigh before he pushes his hand under the edge of his boxers to grab blindly at Armin’s soft, curved ass. Jean appreciates how earnest Armin is with his movements. Armin whimpers into Jean’s mouth and mewls when Jean sucks at his neck. It’s not his intention to leave hickeys, that would just be a bonus. Armin’s fingers, still cold from the water, scratch over the course hair on his lower abdomen causing him to roll his hips into Armin’s. It’s then that he feels how hard Armin is. “Fuck,” he’s not sure he means to say it just does when Armin gasps.

“I’m so sorry.” Armin says it quickly like he can’t keep air in his lungs. “I have no clue what I’m doing.” 

Jean looks down at Armin’s face his cheeks are red and his eyes are blown wide like he can’t believe this is happening. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why are you so - fuck!”

Armin snorts. 

“You’re doing fine.”

Armin looks to the side. “I just don’t feel like I’m doing enough.”

“Do you want to do something?” Jean rolls his hips again and Armin moans.

“Please.”

Jean takes him by the wrist and puts his hand at the waistband of his briefs. “Touch me.” He helps Armin put his hand inside his briefs and jumps when Armin’s cold fingers touch the shaft. His hand finds Armin’s hip and his mouth finds his neck as Jean let’s Armin explore what it means to touch another person. His touches are hesitant but enthusiastic once he gets a reaction from Jean. 

He squeezes Armin’s hip and thrusts up into his hand. “Yeah. Just like that,” he whispers when Armin’s thumb circles the tip.

Patience is quickly lost and Jean tugs Armin’s underwear to mid thigh. His hand goes to Armin’s engorged cock and he strokes it slow and steady. Armin stops all movement when Jean palms his tips. 

“Oh my god.” Armin bites Jean’s shoulder. Jean’s not even doing anything especially skillful to him but he’s just unraveling. He can’t think of anything besides Jean. The weight of Jean’s dick sits heavily in his palm and he tries to work through his fog of hyperstimulation to keep stroking it but he’s fighting a losing battle. Jean’s hand is so strong and sure in his strokes while his are quickly losing any semblance of rhythm and purpose. Eventually his hand goes slack all together as his throws his head back. All he can do is writhe as Jean relentlessly strokes him and kisses messily at his neck. “Jean,” he barely manages to say his name. “Fuck, I’m going to -” he squeaks. “I’m going to cum.”

He can feel Jean smile against his neck. “C’ mon baby. Cum for me.”

Everything suddenly feels icy and dark inside of him. Armin loses all sense of comfort and has been thrown back to when he was just a boy and too young to say no. Desperately, he wants to stay there with Jean but suddenly he’s with her and he can feel her touching him and cooing at him. 

_ Not like this,  _ he thinks and his body is doing it before his mind has even caught up to his actions. He pushes Jean off the edge of the chair and sits up so fast he manages to tweak something in his back for a second. He pulls his knees into his chest and sobs one time. 

He can hear that Jean is trying to talk to him but he can’t bring himself to respond. Armin hates that he thought of her. He hates Jean for making him think of her. Mostly he hates himself. Everything is his fault. He could have done more, he could have said something. And, yeah, maybe she’s dying in a facility six hours away but it’s not enough. She gets to die and he has to keep living wondering why.

Armin stands after he’s pulled his boxers up. He’s having an anxiety attack. It’s been about a year since he last had one. They don’t come frequently any more but this one is hitting him hard. His right hand shakes. Jean is still trying to talk to him and all he can do is stare blankly through him. All his brain capacity is preoccupied trying to keep him in reality. His brain sets a goal to get dressed and leave. His body feels like a vessel, like his consciousness is threatening to break it’s earthly tethers and float. 

Jean follows him. “Tell me what’s wrong. Jesus, are you okay?” 

There’s a hand on his shoulder. Armin shudders and spins around quickly. “Don’t touch me.”

“Okay.” Jean throws his hands in the air. “Are you okay?”

No, he’s not. “Just leave me alone.”

“Wha - Armin. Please. I just - Did I do something wrong?”

He’s getting himself dressed as Jean speaks. He won’t cry here. He goes to the window, tosses his backpack through the window and hoists himself up.

“Armin! What the fuck? I’m worried about you. Just - just tell me what I did wrong.”

Armin looks at him. Tries to not look through him. “Nothing. It was me. I did everything wrong.”

Jean just stares after Armin. Still in his boxers, slack jawed, and hurt. It takes a second but then Jean's moving, pulling on his clothes and clamoring though the window. "Armin, wait!" But he's gone and Jean can do little other than stand there trying to reconcile what just happened. 

 

* * *

 

_ clara approached the door to ella’s rental house. the air was blazing hot in the arizona sun. she knocked and stepped back a little. _

_ ella opened the door with a sad smile. she wiped her eyes as armin rounded her leg and stepped towards his mother. “it’s been a pleasure.” _

_ clara held out her hand. “likewise. bye ella.” _

_ “bye clara. bye baby.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter title comes from WATERMEDOWN -[Bragging Rights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OWH7RzRwjEc)
> 
> The last scene between Armin and Jean was especially difficult to write. I wanted to expand on it but I think it's fine as is. There's only so much you can do wth that scene..... fuck I want to flesh it out. Maybe later.  
> Technically the nextchapter is the last one - that's plot progressive anyway. The following will be an epilouge.  
> That being said, I wonder how this gets resolved. IDK. So much mystery. So much suspense. OOOOOO. AHHHHHH.
> 
> Leave a comment or a kudos. I work for tips not change people.
> 
> If you hate me secretly message me on [tumblr](cunttwatula.tumblr.com).  
> If you have a begrudgigng inclination towards me check out my [archive](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mindlessadri/pseuds/cunttwatula)
> 
>  
> 
> See you soon!!!


	10. A Normal Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I want to swim away but don't know how_   
>  _Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean_   
>  _Let the waves up and take me down_   
>  _Let the hurricane set in motion_   
>  _Let the rain of what I feel right now come down_   
>  _Let the rain come down_
> 
>  
> 
> An uneventful day trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola! Happy April Fool's Day!  
> Do not be misled. This newest chapter isn't a joke. It's the real thing.  
> This chapter contains sensitive content. If you've been with me this long you must know that I don't spoil my work. I'm not starting now but please know that you've been given warning.

It feels like a gigantic robot has punched a hole through his heart. He’s tried explaining this to Marco who had replied with, “Don’t give up. He’s obviously going through something.” Jean’s also explained this to Connie, because they’re talking again. Connie had taken a different stance and said something closer to, “What the fuck? Doesn’t he know you don’t deserve that shit?” Connie isn’t the type that’s sensitive to everyone; he’s only sensitive to a select few. Jean being one of them.

The last three days blend together. He keeps replaying the night at the pool in his head. Armin was unfolding under him in a way he hadn’t been sure he would. Now he just feels empty and confused. It’s not the same empty he’s been the last few months since Eren’s death this is different. The hole Eren had left had been very physical but this one is less tangible and only something Jean is experiencing. He wonders if him and Armin have broken up only to remember they had never really been together.

He’s up especially late for recent days; three in the morning. His parents have noticed his mood. Lira had tried to combat it with homemade tortillas. Terry’s approach is a little more helpful. A beer out on the deck and advice only a father could give. “Broken hearts are proof you cared.”

Jean’s just starting to think he should try for sleep when he hears his phone go off. He quirks his eyebrow. Since him and Armin aren’t communicating, not even with snaps - he’s tried, he’s not exactly expecting anybody to contact him. His stomach flips, though, because the only person he knows who would be up this late is in fact Armin. 

He answers his phone without looking at the caller ID. He finds it hard to crush his own hope. “Hello?”

“Jean,” Armin’s voice is clear on the other end. Jean doesn’t say anything. He has so much to say and knows it but the words won't come out. “Are you there?”

“Oh. Um, yeah.”

He can hear Armin breathe out steady. “Okay. Good. Do you want to go somewhere with me?”

Jean doesn’t say anything just licks his lips and contemplates asking the obvious,  _ what happened the other night? _

“I’m cashing in my favors now. So, it’s not really a question. I mean, it is. But if you don’t you’re going back on your word.”

It’s a sense of loyalty that makes him say yes.

“Okay. I’m actually pulling up outside your house right now.”

Jean’s stomach flips and he stands to look out the window over his desk. Sure enough he sees Armin’s beat up car sitting curbside. He’s still surprised he didn’t get caught sneaking out the other night, his parents are becoming  _ parents _ again, and he’s already testing their limits. “Okay, I’ll be right out.”

He pulls on a pair of jeans and Armin’s hoodie he never gave back. Almost, he thinks he’s trying to make a statement like,  _ do you remember this?  _ RC isn’t anywhere when he leaves his rooms and sneaks out the front door. Armin’s car sits at the end of the driveway, idling. 

When Armin sees him he hears the passenger door unlock. He plops into Armin’s car and shuts the door. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Armin returns without looking at him. He pulls out onto the road.

They drive in silence until Armin merges onto the dead freeway. Vegas is a nightlife city but even it has a few hours where it’s silent. Jean licks his lips and pretends to concentrate really hard on the dense outline of the mountains on the eastern horizon. “Um, are we -” he chances a glance at Armin who has tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “Are we cool?”

Armin relaxes as if he’d been expecting something else to come out of Jean’s mouth. “Oh. Yeah. We’re cool.”

Jean nods to himself. It still itches in the back of his mind. Armin says they’re fine but he can’t help but feel like it’s a blatant lie. “Did I do something wrong?” He watches Armin tense again but it doesn’t stop him from continuing because he deserves an explanation. “I mean the other night at the pool?”

The car is approaching the turn off for Boulder City and it briefly occurs to Jean to ask where they are going. He also wonders if Armin is ignoring him or taking time to collect his thoughts. 

“Do you remember the night we went to the drive in?”

Jean sits up in his seat. “Uh, yeah. Of course.”

“Do you remember how you felt? Probably something like you we’re backed into a corner. Like you were trapped inside yourself and nobody could see that.”

“Yeah.” He stares at Armin, circles darker than usual, hair gross and oily, clothes rumpled. “That’s pretty accurate.”

“And what did you need then?”

He thinks on it. It’s not meant to be a loaded question but it feels like one. “I just needed somebody to be there for me. I needed you.”

Armin nods, slowly. “Exactly. I just need that from you right now. Just be here for me.”

“What if I suck at it?”

It’s a relief when Armin’s snorts and cracks a smile. “You’re not going to suck.”

They fall into a less awkward silence. Jean eventually finds Armin’s phone and puts on his playlist. They’ve only been driving about a half hour when it occurs to Jean, yet again, he has no idea where the car is heading. “Can I at least ask where we’re going?”

They’re crossing the Hoover Dam, the city lights already a century behind them, when the headlights flash over a reflective sign: _ Arizona - The Grand Canyon State Welcomes You. _

Jean makes Armin pull over in the dead of night on the side of the road. “Armin? You can’t be serious. My parents will kill me.”

Armin averts his gaze. 

“They will literally kill me. My dad use to threaten to hang us up by our testicles in the garage. He’s never actually done it but that  _ could  _ change.”

He watches as Armin very pointedly doesn’t look away from his speedometer. Jean’s worried about him.  Armin seems hollow and empty and he wonders how he’s never seen it before because the emptiness in him has created a hole much larger than the one Jean’s had in him the last few months. 

“Please?”

Armin sounds so broken that Jean’s face falls.

“It’s only a six hour drive to Phoenix. We’re leaving so early it might be less. We just - I just have to see her. I have to know. Then we can come right back. You’re parents will probably think you’re sleeping in the morning and they have work, right? Oh, wait it’s Saturday but maybe they have plans? You’ll be home before them or just a little after them.”

Jean breathes out through his nose. He can’t leave Armin alone. He’s afraid to. “Fine. But you’re buying breakfast.”

Armin pulls back onto the road. _ I ponder of something great/ My lungs will fill and then deflate/ They fill with fire/ Exhale desire/ I know it's dire/ My time today.  _ The music plays on and Jean falls asleep as the desert landscape breezes past. It’s vast emptiness a metaphor for the inside of their hearts.

The sun is rising when he wakes up. The car is stopped and Jean adjusts the back of the seat so he’s sitting up. Armin’s no longer in the car but he also knows they aren’t in Phoenix. Not enough time has passed and outside the window the little shops around the car scream ‘small town.’ 

He reads the decorated window they’re parked in front of. It reads ‘coffee’ in sprawling script that reminds him of a 50s soda shoppe. Sleep begs for him to come back but his curiosity gets the better of him. 

Inside the shop it homey. It’s cluttered with knick-knacks and tapestries. Armin’s at the counter looking in the display case at the pastries one of the girls is unloading from pan to tray. 

“Hey,” he says as he comes up behind Armin. “You okay?”

Armin stands, shrugs. “Not really.”

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

“Not yet.” Armin turns to face him. He’s changed into actual clothes; a band t-shirt, jeans, converse, Jean’s zip-up. He’s also pulled his hair into a ponytail. “I ordered you coffee.”

Jean smiles. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

“How much further?”

“We’re about halfway.”

Their coffee is ready then and they both grab their cups. Armin’s face is pale. His eyelids are a deep translucent purple from lack of sleep. He wonders if he’s slept at all in the last three days. “Armin, can I do anything for you? You -” He sighs, “Honestly, you look like shit.”

Armin laughs quietly at a misery only he understands. He’s not sure how he could essentially kidnap Jean and he’s the one concerned with him. The urge to scream crawls up his throat and stays there right behind his Adam’s apple. He can’t even begin to imagine how he’s supposed to explain what he’s feeling to another person - he’s never even tried to. But this is the first time it’s been too much. What he’s feeling - it feels like it’s killing him. It’s every unresolved emotion he has, every question, every sleepless night. Maybe he will tell Jean, just not now. Now he just wants to stay where he is, a dark room with no windows and her on the other side, sitting, smiling,  _ baby.  _ “I’ll be fine. Just, do what I said, yeah? Just be here with me.”

He steps into Jean’s bubble, sets his head against his chest and waits. Jean’s arms come around him. He doesn’t hug Jean back, just let’s himself be held.  _ Peace will win/ And fear will lose.  _ The lyrics repeat in his mind and he wonders which one Jean is; which one he is. And ultimately which they are when they are together.

The coffee keeps him awake as Armin drives. Jean watches Armin’s knuckles go white on the steering wheel then relax about a hundred times. Armin’s silence is strange. It puts him on edge. They’re about two hours outside the city when he remembers how they use to fill the silence. 

“Let’s say,” Jean pauses for effect and looks over to Armin who appears to be listening. “That a huge rip in the time space continuum just opened up in front of your car. Right now. When we landed on the other side where would you want to be?”

A few things cross Armin’s mind. First; Jean’s an idiot if he thinks he’s about to bait Armin into conversation. Second; he’s an idiot because it’s totally about to work. But, then he starts thinking of where he’d rather be. Wonders if he can go back to change things. He remembers the first time he kissed Jean, if he changed that they wouldn’t be here in a web of confusing hormones and life experiences neither of them should have ever had to deal with. 

He imagines his car flying through space and time only to come out on the other side at the exact moment she was getting out of her car; run her down and never look back. It’s not a waste to think that but he also thinks that there might be something better to do with his one chance to be anywhere. 

Armin clears his throat, “I’d want to be at the beginning. The beginning of everything. You know, when there weren’t cities but just open and vast land.” He pauses. “I just want to see everything. Brand new and hopeful.”

“I’m in the car with you. Are you saying you trust the both of us to survive? I never said we were coming back.”

“Oh,” he feels a smile tug at his face. “In that case we’d both die pretty quickly. But the two days we weren’t absolutely miserable would be great.”

Jean leans back against his seat. “Yeah. You’re right.” He hits his index fingers against each other. “It’s your turn.”

Armin looks as if he’s forgotten that’s how this works. “Oh, um, what’s the most disappointed you’ve ever been?”

Jean feels himself make a face as if his answer should be obvious. He then realizes that being blue balled at a pool in mid spring probably isn’t the worse thing that’s happened to him. As a side note he also knows he shouldn’t be an asshole about that.

“It’s going to sound dumb.”

“Sounding dumb has never stopped you before.” Armin’s eyes go wide like he can’t believe that just rolled out of his mouth. “Oh my god. That just came out.”

Jean can see the corners of Armin’s mouth struggle to stay serious. He laughs and so does Armin. “Really though, my brother’s girlfriend - we both liked her when we were kids. It broke my prepubescent heart when I realized she was never going to love me. I was very convinced we’d be together the rest of our lives or something. I was just a kid, obviously. It’s kind of funny looking back on it.”

“So, your first love was your brother’s girlfriend.”

Jean shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not sure I knew what love was then. I don’t even know if I do now.”

“Me either. Your turn.”

“A million dollars but once a month for a year an random animal attacks you. Would you take the money?”

Armin’s nose scrunshes up. “Is there a weight limit to the animal? Or maybe a ferocity level?”

He thinks on it. “Fifty pound weight limit to the animal.”

“Pass. I wouldn’t do it. Way to much of an inconvenience.”

Jean laughs. “I’d do it. It’s only a year.” 

Armin shakes his head. “No way. You know what falls in the category of less than fifty pounds? Badgers.”

They settle after that. He watches Armin. The rise and fall of his chest, his ocean blues scanning the empty interstate. “‘Min, what are we doing once we get to Phoenix?”

It’d be easy to tell the truth. Armin has no idea. He hasn’t thought that far ahead. He’d just gotten the idea to do this roughly six hours ago. “It’s not your turn.” He glances at Jean and tries for a disarming, playful smile.

They drive on, the sun rising in front of them making it hard to see.

Driving through city is almost as god forsaken a task as the city is ill conceived. When they come to a stop they are in the parking lot of a large, well landscaped building which seems to be in the middle of the city. Armin’s A/C is struggling to keep up with the demanding heat and Jean can feel sweat forming on less than optimal part of his unshowered, pubescent body.

They are facing what he assumes is the main entrance and Armin sits back in his seat and stares. There’s only silence save for the occasional car passing on the main road or person walking by. It’s nine in the morning when they get there and nearly ten by the time Jean is losing his patience waiting for Armin to do something.

“‘Min, we can’t sit here all day.”

“I know,” he says without looking away from the building.

“Then why are we still in the car?”

Armin closes his eyes and digs his palms into his sockets. “I’m scared.”

Jean can feel his his eyebrow come together in concern. “Of what?” He looks at the building again. It seems pretty welcoming. There are no signs indicating what it is though.

“Of her.” Armin feels like he’s about to cry and he hasn’t even done anything. They came so far and he’s not even sure he’s going to be able to get out of his car. 

“Who?”

Armin hasn’t said her name in years. “Ella.” It tastes bitter.

Jean reaches over the console and turns off the car. He gets out and comes around to the driver’s door. Armin’s looking at him through the window before Jean opens the door. “I’ll go with you.” He offers his hand and Armin takes it, fingertips callous from cello but soft palms against Jean’s hand.

Armin looks at their hands and slots their fingers together. “Don’t let go.”

“Okay.”

“Even if my palm gets gross and sweaty.”

Jean chuckles, “Promise.”

They approach the building and Jean reads the window text but the only word he really pick up on is ‘Hospice.’ The forced air conditioner at the entrance is a nice relief. There’s an information desk and Jean motions towards it only to have Armin shake his head and pull them towards an elevator. Jean recognizes Facebook on Armin’s phone. “It says she’s on floor four,” Armin says and pushes a button.

“Which room?” Jean asks when they exit the elevator. 

“Forty-six.”

“We should still check in with reception, right?”

Armin looks between the station and elevator. “Facebook says she has an open visitors list. But yeah? I guess we still should. Hold the elevator.” The nurse looks up as he approaches. “Eleanor Jammers,” he tried not to choke. 

“Your name?” She asks as she types at her computer.

“Armin.”

She hands him two visitors passes after checking over some files. “She’s just up the elevator. Fourth floor, third door on the right.” The nurse points. “She was sleeping on the last round.”

Armin nods and goes back to Jean. They take the elevator up and he swallows when they step out onto the fourth floor. “This way,” Armin leads them down the hall. 

The moment is upon him and he can do little more than stare at the number that marks her room. He can hear Jean next to him trying to get his attention. It’s strange knowing he’s about to face somebody who he hasn’t seen in years but has dreamt of most nights. 

He’s wondered over the last few days if the feeling of hopelessness and filth will die with her. If it doesn’t, though,at least this will bring closure. So he hopes, anyway. 

As he stands there he realizes that he’s never said it outloud. What’s happened to him and he begins to question how he’s supposed to proceed when he’s not even sure he can get the words to come out.

Turning to Jean he takes a deep breath. He turns and looks up at Jean. His heart is pounding in his chest. “I have to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Jean’s eyes are honest and warm. It’s a kindness Armin isn’t sure he deserves.

“The person in that room -” Armin struggles a moment. A coldness rushes through him. Every reason he’s never told anyone rushes to him. He starts to feel as if he can’t breathe but he trust that if he can just get it out that he’ll be able face this. “She molested me.”

Jean stares and Armin’s lip quivers as he watches Jean process what he’s just been told. “I - I’m sorry.”

Jean’s eyes go wide. “No. No Armin. Don’t say that.” He runs a hand over his face as he tries to contain the emotions he’s just beginning to experience. A fierce protectiveness runs through him. Jean can’t even begin to understand how anybody could molest a child let alone Armin. 

Jean breathes in through his nose and he watches as Armin looks away. He sees shame in Armin’s eyes and can’t help but pull Armin to his chest. “You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing.”

Armin squeezes Jean and turns his face into Jean’s chest. “She’s dying and - I don’t know. I just have to see her.”

“You don’t owe her  _ anything.” _

“I know that!” Armin snaps without meaning to.  A passing custodian sushes him. “She owes me, Jean. I deserve closure. She gets to die and nobody is going to ever know. I have to know my whole life.”

Jean feels sick in his stomach. He wants to take Armin and run but looking at Armin he knows he wants to do the exact same thing and the reason Jean is there is to make sure he doesn’t. “Okay. I’m going to be right there with you.”

They stand outside the door, frozen for a few minutes then Armin speaks again. “I can’t do it. You go first.” 

Jean looks at him. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

“I’m not. I just can’t even imagine what’s going to happen on the other side of that door.”

“Do you know what you’re going to say?”

Armin shakes his head. “No idea.”

“Okay.” Jean steps forward and turns the handle. He leads Armin into the room. 

It’s illuminated by the natural sunlight streaming in through the window. There’s a comfy looking couch and some chairs set up for visitors and a bed with her in it. Armin scrunches his nose and feels his stomach sink to the bottom of Mariana’s Trench. 

She has the audacity to sleep as if Armin’s life isn’t shifting around her. For a moment he can’t even be sure it’s actually her, but then he sees her hands, long freckled fingers and manicured nails, though now they’re thin and tired looking - he knows. He stands in the doorway for what seems like a long time. A few different emotions run through his body; shame, sadness, betrayal, hatred, anger. He can feel the frown set on his face and the anger boiling in his blood.

Armin let’s go of Jean’s hand and walks over with long strides to the edge of the bed. He peers down at her. She has on one of those oxygen tubes but she still manages to wheeze. The sheer hatred that powers him is raw and unrelenting. He shoves her shoulder without regard for her state. “Wake up.” She stirs but starts to relax again. He shoves her more forcibly. “Wake up!”

Her eyes open and close a few times in confusion. When they finally focus she stares at him, wheels turning and then he sees the exact moment she knows who he is. “Armin?”

His response would have been instant if he didn’t falter spectacularly the moment his name left her mouth.

He stares dumbstruck as she presses the button on her bed to sit herself up. It’s like watching a monster with matted hair and mouth froth rise from the sea. And then the monster smiles. “It’s little Armin Arlert. You’ve grown up so  _ beautifully _ .”

“I - I - I” He stutters and can’t stop. He’s not even sure what he’s trying to say. A cold sweat starts at the crown of his head and rushes down his back.

“Oh!” She coos. “You were such a great student. Always took your lessons very seriously. I would talk about you to my other students. They’d all strive to be like you. Perfect.”

“No, I - I didn’t come here for this.” Armin swallows and his eyes sting. The wetness that coats his lashes shocks him. These tears aren’t sadness they are something deeper. They are the gentle whispers that have kept him sane and the innocence that is no longer his. 

Her face falls. “Baby, what’s wrong.”

The word freezes him. His muscles lock up so tightly it’s painful. It’s fear at first and then the feeling in his chest starts to evolve because he remembers the moment. The pool, a chill spring night; Jean’s hands on his body and he should have been able to be carefree. He should have been able to let go. He should have been able to be seventeen. 

It’s anger. So much anger that floods his insides. His body practically shakes from the rage he feels. “You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to call me anything.” His voice cracks but finishes strong. 

“Armin, I -”

“No. Just listen to me.” His teeth are clenched. “I came here for one reason. I came here to say I hate you.”

A nervous smile pulls across her tired sunken face. Actual confusion flashes in her eyes. “Armin, I - I don’t know what to say. We were so close when -”

“Shut up!” Armin screams. “You know! You know what you did!

She glances behind him, to Jean he assumes. “Oh look. You  brought a friend.”

“Don’t change the subject. Tell me why!” His voice cracks and tears spill over his lashes, hot and salty.

“Why what?” Her voice is purposely disarming.

Armin leaves the security of Jean’s side and steps forward, bending at the waist and putting his face on the same lateral level as hers. “Fucking tell me.” His voice is unhinged, “Tell me why. I know you know what I’m talking about. Do I need to remind you?”

“Armin let’s not -”

He laughs with mirth. “I know you remember. Taking me to your room. Taking off my clothes.  _ Touching  _ me.  _ Hurting  _ me. It hurt so much. And I would beg you to stop and you would feed me the lines you wanted to hear. You’d tell me it would end quicker if I said them. ‘ _ More, Miss Ella.’”  _ Armin sobs. He’s forgotten where he is and the words just keep spilling out. “ _ ‘It feels good Miss Ella.’ ‘Touch me more.’ ‘Make me yours.’”  _ His voice cracks. “‘ _ I love you.’”  _ Armin stares at her with tears in his eyes. “You took that from me.”

He’s losing himself. He can feel it. This is the darkest part of him. He falls deeper into the pit as he watches her smile slip off her face. But it’s not out of sympathy. She looks malicious, like a snake about to strike. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Armin rushes the bed. Shakes her by her shoulders. “Tell me! You owe me! I never told anybody! I never said  _ anything.  _ I can’t live like this anymore.” He feels himself start crying full force and he can hardly believe it. She doesn't deserve his tears, his brokenness. She’s not special enough to see him like this. Then there’s the warmth of Jean’s hand on his back. 

“‘Min,” Jean’s voice cuts through the darkness and takes hold of him. It pulls him back. “Don’t give her the satisfaction.”

He lets go of her and pushes himself backwards into Jean’s chest. He’s not sure he could keep standing if Jean wasn’t behind him. Jean’s hands are on his hips and he’s the one thing keeping him in this room.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me. We both know what you did. We both know. But tell me. Fucking tell me why.” Armin clutched Jean’s wrists. 

“Why does it matter?” Her voice is weighted and patient.

Armin’s jaw falls open and he nearly falters again. “It matters because when I sleep I see it. I see your bedroom and the purple bedding and I can feel everything you did to me. Every time I said no, every time I asked you to stop. I see it in my head whenever I sleep.”

She looks to Jean then back to Armin. “If you want an answer you’ll ask him to leave.”

He can feel the way Jean tenses behind him. “Armin I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers against his ear.

He’s torn. The last thing he wants is to be alone with this woman and a close second is being apart from Jean. but, she’ dangling the answer right in front of him and he craves it. He wants the release from the chains that are holding him back. Armin looks over his shoulder, “I’ll be okay.” Jean doesn’t look convinced. “Please. I’ll be right out.”

“Five minutes.” Reluctantly, Jean leaves the room. It isn’t until the door closes behind him that she speaks.

“Is that your boyfriend?”

“Does it matter?” He throws her words back at her.

She raises her eyebrow. “You seem to think you’re calling the shots.”

Armin snarls. “Fine. Yes. I think so. It’s complicated.” 

She snorts. “A little childhood trauma and you turn gay?”

“It’s not like that.” He can’t meet her eyes. “It’s just how I am.” The need to explain himself to her of all people is unsettling.

He watches her fingers on the guard rail of her bed. They move as if she’s fingering notes on an instrument. “He’s handsome.”

It makes him sick that she just carries on as if Armin is calm and collected. It’s not surprising when he thinks about it. She hasn’t changed at all. “Just give me what I came here for.”

“Fine. You want to know why I did it. You want to know what it meant.” She chuckles, dark and cold. Sick. “You were out of my age range.  _ God _ . You were nearly  _ twelve _ . I remember the first time I thought I saw pubic hair on you. But you were just so beautiful. So tiny and boyish. 

“The truth hurts baby. And the truth is I didn’t even need a reason to do it. I did it because I wanted too. On a base and fundamental level I wanted to. 

“Even more confusing to me is that you want to know what it meant. I can’t wrap my head around that you mean. Do you want to know what it meant to me? Do you want to know what it meant to you?” 

She sighs and scratches her neck. “It didn’t mean anything to me. You were just another kid in a long list of kids.”

That stings in a way he can’t even comprehend. If he didn’t mean anything to her it means the trauma he’s suffered was just a random act of violence and that somehow makes it worse. “But what does it mean? There has to be a  _ reason _ . There has to be a  _ reason  _ I suffered. A  _ reason  _ you picked me.” His voice cracks.

She laughs, “I don’t know what you want from me,” she throws her hands away from herself. “Do you want me to say sorry? Do you want me to feed into your fantasy?”

“I- I’m not - I don’t-” Armin struggles to contest that he doesn’t have a fantasy.

“Yes you do. What you want from me is to mince my words so that at the end of this what I did to you makes sense. You want what happened to you to fit in a sort of cosmic paradigm where I did what I did because of some terrible event in my life. You want me to say my uncle touched me? My dad? My babysitter? Or maybe you want me to say that I believe I got cancer because I’m into little boys. But not one of those things are true. I touched you because I _wanted_ to. And the cancer? That’s just luck of the draw.”

Armin stares at her. Lost for words. His mouth opens and closes as his brain tries to form any coherent thought.

She hits her morphine drip and sighs. “You didn’t mean anything to me. _ It  _ didn’t mean anything to me. And it shouldn’t to you. Whatever trauma you suffering from because of what I did - that’s on you.”

He feels empty and confused. Searching for a light in the darkness.

“Leave. I don’t have the energy to do this anymore.” She weakly gestures with her hand towards the door.

Armin turns and walks to the door. With his hand on the handle he says the first thing that comes to mind. “I hope you die alone.”

He exits the room and leaning against the opposite wall is Jean. His face is serious and he steps towards Armin cautiously. “Armin, are you okay?”

Something inside him is breaking in jagged and rough pieces. He can’t comprehend how his pain and suffering meant nothing to her. It’s unfathomable that she has lived her life, sleeping soundly, opening herself to people and Armin is stunted and broken and dirty. But, if it was as meaningless as she said then - well, then.

He looks up to Jean, locks eyes and starts walking to the car. Nothing passes through his head. No thoughts that can be followed; just the faraway sound of a cello. 

The sun is positioned in such a way that it shades his car when they see it in the parking lot. He clicks his unlock button and they both get in the car. They sit a moment in the dense Arizona heat before Armin turns on the car. It blows hot air for a few minutes then blessed A/C comes through. Jean does try to talk to him but he has nothing to say because he can’t think of anything outside of the meaninglessness he’s apart of.

If it’s meant nothing this whole time then all sex means nothing; at least that’s what he’s rationalizing. Finally he feels something and for better or worse it’s anger and pain. He’s let himself be broken. He could have been normal this whole time. It was only him who had thought that his experience had been world shattering. He hates himself for it. He hates so much.

He looks to Jean and watches something like concern draw on his face. There’s not much thought when he does it, only confusion and hurt. He leans across the console and kisses Jean hard. He can feel Jean try to pull away and he just follows by climbing over the stick shift and landing in Jean’s lap.

His hands fumble with Jean’s pant button and he finally let’s go of Jean’s unresponsive mouth. “Fuck. I can’t get the button.”

Suddenly his hands are snatched upwards. “Armin, what the hell are you doing?

“I - I” He pauses, his lip trembles. “It’s doesn’t matter none of it matters.” Armin feels the pressure building behind his nose, then his eyes and all at once he’s sobbing in Jean’s lap. 

Maybe the reaction is instinct but Jean gathers him in his arms, kisses the top of his head and smoothes his hair. It’s comforting but Armin feels so undeserving of it. He pulls at his sweater that Jean is wearing, he almost wishes he could rip through the material and hide inside of him.   

“‘Min, what did she tell you?”

He talks through the sobs. “She told me it didn’t matter. That her molesting me wasn’t a big deal and this whole time I’ve just been making myself this way and I just -  _ I wish she was  right. _ I wish it had meant nothing to me. I’m so sorry Jean. I wanted to be with you the other night and then she was there in my head and I couldn’t. And she’s right I could have been. I could have been normal. I could have slept. I could have stayed in school. I could have been different. But I’m not. I’m me. I’m broken and I just - oh god why did it have to be me?”

Jean can’t be sure how long Armin cries but he’s sure it’s way later in the day by the time Armin falls asleep laid across his chest with his head tucked in the crook of Jean’s neck. He tries to move as gently as possible but Armin’s eye still cracks open. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to drive us home.”

“You drive?”

“Yeah. I own a car.”

“Why don’t we ever take your car?”

Jean shrugs. “I’ve been avoiding it a while.”

Armin’s eyes fall shut. “Okay.” 

Jean gets in the driver’s seat and puts the car in drive. Armin takes his hand before he truly falls back to sleep. The sun is in front of them as they drive. Jean studies Armin’s face more than he should; freckled upturned nose, mouth slack as he snores, the rims of his eyes a fading red from his tears, and the most delicate blond lashes he’s ever seen. And he thinks, maybe, if he doesn’t know what love is that he might be learning.

Armin sleeps the whole way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene between Ella and Armin was so difficult to write. I can't believe it came out of me. Ella's character is so perverse. Rereading some of what I'd written disturbed me. But it wasn't rewriting this scene that delayed updates. 
> 
> The chapter title comes from [Into The Ocean](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZES3nJQYJok) by Blue October.
> 
> In my mind this is the end of the story. Both Jean and Armin have had to face their inital problems. They faced them together and have overcome. If it were up to me there probably wouldn't be an epilouge.... but I'm a sadist not a monster and so there is an epilouge. 
> 
> On that note I'm hoping for lotsa feedback! Comment below because I care about what you have to say. Or kudos as an alternative.
> 
> Feel free to check out [this](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mindlessadri/works) archive that's all my own.
> 
> Or find me on [tumblr](cunttwatula.tumblr.com)!


	11. King Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You've got it all_   
>  _You lost your mind in the sound_   
>  _There's so much more_   
>  _You can reclaim your crown_   
>  _You're in control_   
>  _Rid of the monsters inside your head_   
>  _Put all your faults to bed_   
>  _You can be king again_
> 
>  
> 
> Eren gets the last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. It's the final chapter. It's very short and honestly it's taken so long to post because I've been going through some stuff.
> 
> Anyway. Please enjoy

August is a brutal month but not nearly as terrible as June and July. Late August, like it is now, fluctuates from the high nineties to the one-tens. Jean looks at himself in the mirror and grins. His body is finally getting back to where it should have been had he continued training like he had throughout most of high school. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed to wear his  _ short  _ running shorts which proudly display his tan muscular thighs.

His phone buzzes and he flips it over.  _ passing your place now.  _ He fumbles down the hall shoving his head phones in the aux port and tucking his phone in his arm band after. He jogs down his driveway and sees Mikasa about fifty yard ahead of him. She cut her hair after having the baby and is swishes freely above her shoulders. 

She’s pushing a jogging stroller. Jean hadn’t been sure she’d be able to run as effectively with it as she had hoped when she first got it. He’d been right, but after about a month she had been back up to speed and her arms were looking fantastic.

He stays behind her and the baby as he warms up his legs. Mikasa’s challenged him to do fifteen miles today so he’s not in a rush. He catches up to her after about two blocks. Easily, he falls instep with her as they run. He looks down at the stroller and makes a face at Levi, he’d been born premature in mid July after Mikasa had caught a persisting virus that made it near impossible for her to keep anything other than water down. Levi had still come out a relatively healthy six pound baby. Levi stares back up at him with all the defiance of Jean’s brother but the same steely eyes as his mother. It makes Jean laugh.

The possibility of naming the baby after Eren had been brought up a few times, mostly by his mom. Mikasa had been firm in saying she didn’t think Eren would have wanted their kid named after a dead person. Jean had to agree with her.

Things after the dinner had taken time to mend. There’d been no quick fix to the type of pain and hurt that had torn them apart. Levi had helped bring them back to their senses. Sometimes Jean feels the inadequacy of his apology. Mostly, when he catches Mikasa staring at the Levi like it breaks her heart. He can only be a friend at those times and reassure her that everything is going to work out.

Though, times like this, where it’s just the two of them and the baby, Jean can feel the way they fit together - friends and confidants. The sting of never getting a paternity test has faded; after all it’s very clear just looking at Levi that he’s Eren’s son. Even if he wasn’t it wouldn’t matter. Mikasa had been right; they’d all needed the baby to be the last remaining piece of Eren. Levi is his last word and they all cling to him.

“Hey,” he says in greeting.

“Hey, yourself.”

Their feet hit the pavement in even, heavy steps and they keep going.

 

* * *

 

_ it’d been the beginning of June when armin had taken out his cello from his closet for the first time in almost a year and a half. His mother had called him exactly one week ago to tell him they had finally memorialized her facebook page. He hadn’t felt anything; not even relief like he’d hoped he might.  _

_ after she died he’d sat for a long time on his bed staring into his closet and looking at the cello. a lot of things went through his mind but he was mostly struck by the fact that there was no solace or satisfaction in her death. it’d only been then that he realized that she hadn’t been completely wrong. the way he’d chosen to live his life was partly his fault. he could have told his parents or spoken up or chosen to move on - to some degree. he just hadn’t. living in pain had done nothing to make her suffer or repent so each sleepless night and panic attack in the twilight hours had been him punishing himself and letting her win. _

_ his years felt wasted. he grappled with this concept for days. he could have been stronger, but the moment had passed and what he should have done is neither here nor there. it was letting go of the coulds, shoulds, and woulds that was most difficult. as hard as it was armin had to accept there was nothing to be done about what she’d done to him. it’d happened and he reasoned the only proper retaliation was to stop letting it hold him back.  _

_ armin stood from his bed and fished his cello out. he’d decided that she wasn’t allowed to win anymore. he took it to the air conditioned garage and set up a chair in the center. sitting he adjusted his instrument to his preferred height. the bow was without a doubt in need of being replaced but he applied resin anyway. letting the head extend over his over his left shoulder he took a breath.  _

_ it took him a bit  to tune by ear but there’d been something methodic and calming about doing it on his own. _

_ he’d just set his fingers to the strings to play when his phone went off. it’d been a snap from jean. they hadn’t talked much in the last few weeks not because they were having a falling out but because armin had told him he needed time to figure some things out. even he hadn’t known the specifics of what he needed; just knew that where they were was already moving too fast for him and where there were heading was exciting and terrifying all at once.  _

_ still, jean texted him and they talked on the phone a few times a week but they hadn’t seen each other since getting back from phoenix roughly eight weeks ago. _

_ the snap had been of jean, water dripping down his face, a bald guy hanging over his left shoulder, and an auburn haired girl with an upturned nose hanging over his right. both of jean’s counterparts had their tongues sticking out. the guy has his face turned towards jean like he was about to lick him and the girl’s face was looking right at the camera with her chin up and eyes squeezed tight. the spaces between them had suggested they were at the waterpark. there was an overlay at the bottom;  _ miss you.

_ armin’s heart clenched. he smiled at his phone and set his cello down. he’d sighed as he went back to his room and laid on his bed. with his phone pressed to his ear he waited. each ring made him more nervous, but then jean was on the other end and he felt himself relax.   _

_ “armin?” jean’s voice was the same as ever. smooth like warm honey dripping off his fingers. _

_ he smiled to himself and felt butterflies rip through his stomach. he wasn't’ sure what to say. it hadn’t been like he’s called with a plan. seeing jean had just made him yearn for his gentle touches and the safety armin felt when they were together. “i miss you, too.” _

_ “oh, ‘min,” jean’s voice was soft but heavy, weighted with the length of his absence. _

_ armin cleared his throat. “are you still at the water park?” _

_ “yeah, but we’re leaving right now.” _

_ “oh,” armin licked his lips and tasted the juice he’d been drinking earlier. “did you have fun?” _

_ “yeah,” jean laughs. “we’ve been here all day. connie’s back looks like a tomato. what about you? how was your day?” _

_ “better.” his mouth goes dry as he searches for the words. “will you come over?” _

_ he heard jean yelling at some people in the background to be quiet.  “now?” _

_ “whenever you can.” _

_ he could hear the smile in jean’s voice, “yeah. i’ll be over as soon as i get home.” _

_ it’d nearly been six when jean finally texted him that he was outside. armin had let him in and they had stood awkwardly in the doorway staring at each other and smiling. he noticed how tan jean had gotten over the past few weeks and how his hair had lightened up in the sun.  _

_ “hey,” they said at the same time with the same breathlessness. they smiled, shy and with thinly veiled excitement. _

_ “i want to show you something.” armin stepped away from the door, turning his back to jean and walking down the hall toward the garage door.  _

_ jean followed without question. _

_ armin was very grateful that his grandfather believed in air conditioned garages or else he wouldn’t have been able to do this. he sat in his chair and brought his cello to resting position. “sit there.” armin pointed to an old beanbag his grandfather kept out there.  _

_ jean sat with his knees up and arms hanging over them. _

_ armin took a breath, placed his fingers properly on the neck, at set the bow on the strings. “i haven’t played for over a year so be nice.” _

_ “maybe.” _

_ armin looked up to see jean smiling at him playfully, he snorted and shook his head before pulling out the first deep note. the vibrations seemed to travel up his arm and explode in his head. he played short parts from multiple pieces. they hadn’t meshed together all that well but he felt it then, something inside him that was alive and in love coming out and taking control as he pushed and pulled the bow across the strings. he realized, as he felt he was approaching the end, that he’d wanted to tell jean something with this. he’d wanted to say that he was a mess, but he wanted to be more than who he was, that he wanted to learn to be that person with jean there. _

_ his body jerked back and forth with the music even though he knew any proper teacher would have scolded him for his lack of discipline. he’d felt right and powerful behind his instrument. his callouses had grown weak and he could feel the strings digging in and making blisters because of the fury behind his fingering. each note reverberated through his sternum and he felt free. _

_ he’d drawn out the last note to something by bach; at least he’d say it was bach - there’d been no music in front of him. every note had been recited from memory.  _

_ armin smiled to himself and opened his eyes that had fallen shut at some point. he looked to jean who stared at him slack jawed with his fist pressed to his mouth in wonderment.  a smirk spread across his face as he transitioned to the most mundane and overplayed set of notes for a bass scale ever. he played the first three notes for ‘smoke on the water’ before jean stood and walked over to him purposely. _

_ armin stopped playing and looked up at him as he let his instrument rest against his shoulder. slowly, jean’s hand found the neck of the cello and helped armin drop it off his shoulder and lay it on the ground. _

_ he swallowed, nervous and weightless all at once.  _

_ jean kissed him softly and sat in armin’s lap with a leg on either side of armin’s slender hips. jean’s weight settled over him comfortably as he felt jean’s hand tangle his fingers in the roots of his hair.  _

_ they kissed slowly with the gravity of their hearts between them. _

_ jean pulled back and put his forehead roughly against his. “i love you.” _

_ armin’s breath caught and his stomach felt as if there was a turning ocean inside. he kissed jean back, not being able to help himself. he tugged him down, put his hands on his neck and in his hair. _

_ he use to think that he didn’t deserve love; that he was too tainted and used up to give himself to somebody. _

_ but love had never been about being whole and together - it was about finding somebody who knew all about the sadness inside and trusting them to hold on when the pain threatened to consume him. _

_ he gave himself to jean and realized jean had probably had him since the beginning. _

 

* * *

 

His parents are at work, the new school year has started. While his parents aren’t happy with him they’ve agreed to let him take a year off from school so long as he got a job. Currently he’s working as a waiter at some new Italian place that opened up at the mall in a last ditch effort to compete with the outdoor shopping centers that have sprung up in the last few years. The tips are good. 

There’s a knock at the door and RC barks. Jean’s not expecting Armin for another hour. They’re going to go watch a movie before he has to get to work. He goes to the door as he pulls on a shirt, RC trails behind him - wagging his tail.

Jean opens the door and there’s a hipstery looking man in his mid-twenties. He has what can only be described as a pornstache. “Hello?” Jean raises his eyebrow

“Oh, um, yes. My name is Dan but the administration wants me to go by Mr. Fields.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Um, I use to be Eren’s,” he says his brothers name slowly, quietly. “I use to be his videography teacher.”

Jean stands up a little straighter. “Oh, how can I help you?”

“Well, you see, we gave out camera’s to all our students last year so they could film.” Dan trails off with a wave of his hand as if Jean is supposed to know what he’s alluding to. “We never got his back.”

Jean frowns, he suddenly remembers Eren walking around the house commenting on their lives. “I’ll look for it and bring it to the school sometime tomorrow.”

“Sounds great. Thank you so much!”

Dan leaves and Jean briefly wonders how he’s there in the middle of the day. Maybe he has a free period or something. He doesn’t dwell.

He walks to the end of the hall and looks up the stairs to Eren’s room. His mom’s finally started cleaning the stairs again but he’s not sure any of them have actually  _ been _ in Eren’s room yet. He puts his foot on the first step and freezes. He wonders if his therapist would think this is a good move. RC noses the back of his knee and Jean glances behind him only to have RC whine. “Fine. I’m going.”

Taking the stairs two at a time so he can’t back out he sprints up to the landing and throws the door open. The air on the other side is stale but light filters in through the window on the left most wall. Jean can’t move for a moment. Eren’s bed is still a mess, he never made it and their mom would always yell at him. Jean laughs a little and steps into the stillness. Eren has a lot of shelving in his room; mostly for all his junk. He’d always liked models; Jean never got it. Bomber planes hang from the ceiling.

Rc trots into the room behind him and immediately goes for Eren’s bed. He renews his scent with vigorous wiggling on the abandoned comforter. After a moment he settles with a content sigh. His tail thumps heavily against the mattress

Sitting on Eren’s desk beneath the window is a camcorder plugged into Eren’s desktop computer.

Jean sits in Eren’s computer chair and holds the camera in his hand while he rocks himself back and forth. He misses Eren more than he can express; he wishes he had one last chance to talk to him. To apologize. To tell him how awesome his son is. To tell him about Armin.

He sighs and unplugs the camcorder. The computer makes a noise letting him know something has been disconnected. Jean turns back to the monitor and is honestly surprised that the computer is still able to boot up after being on but inactive for almost nine months. There’s a window open on the computer that reads ‘videos.’

There’s about forty different clips with various titles ‘mom interview one’, ‘1998 home movie clip’, ‘dad doing dad stuff’, but one reads ‘family project’ and it’s nine minutes and forty-six seconds long. Jean opens the file and Eren’s face comes up in the video player. His hand hesitates over the mouse before decidedly pressing play.

The first scene isn’t of Eren like the still frame suggested. It’s a home movie. “Who are the two most handsome boys in the world?” The voice is Lira’s, Jean would recognize it anywhere. She’s following little Eren and little Jean around on their tricycles in the driveway. 

They both turn around, “We are!”

“That’s right. But who’s the most handsome?”

Eren and Jean look at each other. “I am!” They both shout then look at each other, offended. Suddenly they’re tackling each other off their bikes to the ground and Lira makes a half hearted attempt to break them up.

“Hey, what about me?” Jean recognizes his father’s voice.

Lira swings the camera. His father looks so young. He’s not as broad and he has no gray hair or facial hair for that matter. “I said boys, not men.”

There’s movement, the angle drops suddenly and then refocuses half-heartedly with his parents in the very corner of the frame kissing. In the background he can hear himself and Eren still fighting. The camera adjusts again and focuses on them. His dad comes into the frame to break up the fight, “Okay boys. Let’s see if you can work together!”

The boys topple Terry over, or at least it seems that way to him and his brother in the film but watching makes it very obvious Terry has fallen over willingly. He resigns himself to being jumped on and wrestled with.

The frame goes to static and it makes Jean jump. But, then, there’s a new image. A single chair lit by and overhead light and the light at the front of the camcorder. Eren walks into the frame wearing a quarter sleeve gray shirt and corduroy pants. He puts his hands in his back pockets and bends over to inspect the camera angle; satisfied he sits. 

Eren drops down low, puts his elbows on his knees and hands together. “Subject - a modern suburban family. Location - Las Vegas, Nevada.” Jean pauses the video and sits back. He stares at Eren’s face and his chest feels tight. It’s been nearly a year since he’s heard his brother’s voice and it sounds so far away.

After a moment Jean presses play and Eren continues. “This is the story of my family. It’s not always pretty and it’s not always fun but there’s always a  _ bleep _ ton of love.” Eren grins at the camera and Jean actually laughs because it would be so like Eren to cuss and then have to censor himself.

The video ends up being really well done Eren balances home movie footage with mock documentary insights. Jean particularly likes when Eren films them all secretly and comments. There’s a particular scene where his parents are flirting in the kitchen and Eren imitates a nature documentary voice over, “And here we see the parentals reassuring they love each other. Their bodies are probably gross and soft but that doesn’t stop either of them. It’s  _ bleep _ -ing disgusting but also amazing. Dis-mazing.”

Jean frowns when there’s a scene of him dancing and singing in front of the bathroom mirror as he gets ready to go do something. “Late adolescence is a difficult and confusing time especially when you’re a horse-boy. Note the overuse of cologne in a vain attempt to attract the opposite gender. Or the same. Nobody is judging.” Jean rolls his eyes but laughs, it’s not like death was going to make his brother any less of a dick. This is the beginning of the part of the video when Eren talks about Jean. He’s already watched the section about his mom and his dad and then them as a couple. There’s even a section about Mikasa before there’s one about him.

“This is Jean. My brother. My big brother. He’s moody as of  _ bleep _ -ing lately. Sometimes it’s like he forgets what it’s like to be human or something.” Something resonates with Jean. He wonders if Eren always saw through him so plainly of if he was just bullshitting for effect. 

The scene switches to the two of them playing in the park. Jean is swinging and Eren is sitting next to him. He goes higher and higher and then let’s go. He flies through the air for about half a second and doesn’t make it very far but Eren’s face lights up in admiration. Eren tries to copy him only to fall off the swing. He starts crying and Jean comes over and squats in front of him. Eren is holding his knee and it’s pretty obvious it’s scraped. 

Little Jean leans over and kisses Eren’s knee. Rubs the pain away. “If anybody ever asked me what I thought of my brother I’d tell them that he’s probably a better person than you but an  _ bleep _ -hole. He always looked out for me when we were kids. He always took the fall. He always tries so hard. Even when he’s being a douche he’s the one that holds us together. He’s our lynchpin. It’s hard to explain how. He just is. He protects my parents from me.” Eren laughs. “I’m ten times more reckless than him so I think my parents are relieved that they have at least one kid they don’t have to worry about.” 

There’s more home movie footage of them. Them as toddlers in the bath. Jean’s first day of school with Eren right beside, upset because Jean has to be away for the day. Footage from Jean’s track meets. A particularly terrible snapchat video where Jean is flipping off Eren. “He carries the weight of the world on his shoulder and our family on his back. The worst part is he doesn’t even realize it.”

It cuts back to Eren sitting in the chair. “So that’s my family. Crazy, protective, moody, but somehow functioning. My mom says I have a bad habit of always having to have the last word and that it’s eventually going to get me in trouble. But here it is; the last word on my family. I wouldn’t have made it this far without them. I’m more than lucky to have them. I don’t know if I can apologize enough for the fact they get me.” Eren laughs. “They’ve made me who I am and I can’t thank them enough.”

Jean can feel the tears of relief on his face. A giant weight lifts from his shoulders. He knows immediately who has to see this video project and his chest inflates with the closure he knows it will bring.

Eren stands, cracks his back, then walks towards the camera. The screen goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always like to use the final end note as a debrief for myself and maybe for some of those people that seem to follow me as an author. 
> 
> To begin the chapter title come from [King](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcJ80cd0gG4) by Lauren Aquilina. This song is for every character in this fic. Also, I actually made a playlist for this fic. It's just a compilation of all the songs I've mentioned before and can be found [here.](https://play.spotify.com/user/cunttwatula/playlist/3p6cNoRRy8X1k1JyWZGiJC)
> 
> Writing this has been a true journey. So many parts of this fic resonated with me personally. I feel like, to date, this is the most solid piece of fiction I've written. Giving Eren the last word is one of the most satisfying things I've done as a writer. It was challenging to have a character that was a focal point of the story but ultmiately had a very small physical role. 
> 
> I wish I had utilized the city more as I had originally intended but the story ended up taking place in three main locations. Vegas is a very vibrant city on and off the strip. I can't believe that in my original idea I actually had Jean and Armin going out and fucking around in the city most nights. I think I had a pretty clear vision of them taking selfies on the Tropicana above ground walkway and going to Freemont street.
> 
> I feel like I've improved tremendously while writing for this fandom. Which is why it's so sad that this is likely the last thing I will be posting for the foreseeable future. I honestly don't know if I'm returning to this fandom. It does take me a long time to write what I'm, kind of, known for at this point. The payoff just isn't worth it right now. Not to mention that lately I've been fidning fanfiction very limiting and think I may have gone as far as I can with the medium. I've come a long way from my first fic which was 70k words and had the plot of a day time television drama.
> 
> I just thought about how funny it would be if other people started using helf-Mex Jean. I wouldn't mind being the mother of that fandom trope. Lol.
> 
> Anyway. Please comment, I'd love to know what you think of the ending. It did also take me a year to write this. -shrugs-
> 
> If you rec this fic on tumblr PLEASE tag me. Tumblr handle: [Cunttwatula](cunttwatula.tumblr.com)
> 
> You've been great. Stay classy Jearms.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're familiar with the Blink-182 you might recognize that this fic is named after their song [Feeling This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4kMZ23T9VHE). It's mostly named for the chrous: Fate fell short this time/ Your smile fades in the summer/ Place your hand in mine/ I'll leave when I wanna
> 
> This story is prewritten and chapters will come out as I feel they are fully edited for content.
> 
> In the mean time please feel free to check you my [other works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mindlessadri/works).
> 
> If you've read [What Grows in Winter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2793734/chapters/6270446) you probably have an idea as to what kind of story you're in for. 
> 
> See you soon!!


End file.
